


Whiz Kids

by anomalation



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Child Abuse, F/M, Friendship, POV Stiles, Pack Bonding, just friendship and making isaac part of the family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2018-06-06 19:28:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6766882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anomalation/pseuds/anomalation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott adopts a new friend and Stiles gets a lot more responsibility than he ever wanted. Everyone becomes Isaac's friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whiz Kids

 

 

 

“You have no idea what you’re talking about, McCall, that’s what I’m saying.” 

Scott, the idiot, raises his hands in mock innocence. “I don’t know what you mean,” he says. “I like Captain America.” 

“ _Nobody_ likes Captain America, he’s boring. He’s a teacher’s pet.” 

“I’m a teacher’s pet,” he points out. 

“Yeah, but you’re not a superhero.” 

“If I was a superhero, I would still be a teacher’s pet.” 

“You’re hopeless,” I tell him. “Two whole universes, all of Marvel and DC’s numerous heroes, and you’ve chosen Captain America. Not even… frickin’ Thor or something?” Someone runs into me, and I almost fall. “Nice watching where you’re going,” I call after them.

“I like Thor _too_ ,” Scott says. “You really need to stop walking backwards.” 

This one thinks he’s so smart. I turn around and fall into step next to him, just to placate him. “I hate to tell you this, Scott, but if you’re not picking Iron Man, Deadpool, or possibly - POSSIBLY Spider-man as your favorite, then you’re out of your Goddamn mind.” 

“Language, Stilinski.” Of course Ms. Canson’s walking by at that exact moment, but honestly Dad’s stopped paying attention to demerits and with him went my last reason to care. 

Scott looks smirky. I point at him. “My point remains. You’re insane.” 

“I am not, I just don't see why superheroes have to be sarcastic and amoral to be interesting.” He motions for me to go through the classroom door first, like a giant dork, but I go first. 

“You don’t even _know_ how wrong you are!” Scott’s already rolling his eyes, but I talk louder and faster before he can. “Spider-man is one of the most moral superheroes out there, and since when do you suddenly have a problem with sarcasm?” 

“No problem with sarcasm,” he says, taking up his innocent tone again. “Did I say I have any problem with sarcasm?” 

He’s learned too much. I narrow my eyes and give him a look. “Watch it, McCall.” 

“Sure thing, Coach.” Scott winks and gives me finger guns.

“I’ll tell you what, I’m going to have to seriously reconsider the strength and emotional intimacy of our friendship in light of this new information,” I grumble, sitting in my seat. 

Scott returns my previous stern look. “If you’re trying to get out of camping-“ 

“Why do you even want to go camping?” I say impatiently, probably mostly cutting him off. “Camping sucks. Camping is how we lived before we got air conditioning, and beds, and frickin’… cable TV, Scott. _Scott._ You’ve never even been camping before, you don’t know how.” 

“I’m going to learn.” 

“You’re one of the literal worst people in the entire world,” I say under my breath, just loud enough for him to hear. 

And Scott just smiles, because he knows he is. I’ve reminded him at least once daily for our entire friendship, since the third grade. More than twenty-five hundred times. I need to work on my follow-through. At least I’m persistent. I’ve got that going for me. “Look. I know amorality and absent father figures push your buttons-“ 

“You’re pushing my buttons right now,” Scott says. 

“You started it.” 

A soaking wet kid sits down in the seat in front of Scott. He’s literally dripping, and while it is raining outside, he’s still pretty damn wet. “What, did he walk here?” I say to myself. 

The kid hears me, because he glances back and hunches his shoulders in an embarrassed way. Scott hears me too, because he glares at me. “I swear to God, Stiles,” he begins. 

Mr. Heston starts talking loudly at the front of the room. “Alright, so today we’re going to cover Chapter 2 of your textbooks. Who’s ready for some quadratics? Anyone?” 

He’s not as cool as he thinks he is. Nobody answers him, obviously. The kid in front of Scott pulls out a soggy notebook from his drenched backpack, and then he turns around and asks Scott in a whisper, “Do you have a pencil I can borrow?” 

“Sure,” Scott says immediately, and hands him the one in his hand. 

I know for a fact that’s his only pencil, because I gave it to him in the class before this one. Loudly, emphatically, I unzip my backpack, pull out my pencil case, and unzip _that_ to hand my idiot best friend another pencil. 

“Thanks,” the kid says to Scott. 

“No problem. Thanks,” Scott says to me. 

“You’re a freakin’ idiot, McCall.” 

“Mister Stilinski, do you have something to add?” Mr. Heston says. 

Shit. “I was just remarking on how fond I was of your portrayal of Moses, sir,” I answer. “I thought it was brave and accurate to the original Biblical source material.”

He goes back to supposedly teaching this class. I go back to glaring at my idiot best friend as I rezip everything back together. 

We pick the conversation back up when class is over and we’re packing up. “Y’know, Scott, for someone who has no pencils of their own, you’re awfully free with mine.” I say it after the wet kid has left, shoes squeaking. I don't want to deal with Scott’s disapproving looks. 

“He needed a pencil!” 

“He’s a weirdo. Why’s he soaking wet? Is he some kind of alien who’s never heard of an umbrella?” 

Scott rolls his eyes. 

“Y’know what? No pencils for eye-rollers. I’m confiscating my pencil,” I decide, and snatch it from his hand. 

He lets me. “Fine. Our next class is gym,” he says, pulling his backpack on.

“Oh my God, Scott.” 

He laughs and leads the way to the locker room. “Keep your pencil, I’ll get one from someone else,” he says. 

“Oh right. Maybe you can get one from your brand new friend, fish-boy.” 

“Maybe I will. Maybe I do have a problem with sarcasm after all.” 

“Yeah, well, maybe I have a problem with my best friend being mentally deficient, have we ever thought about that? Maybe we should consider that. Taking me camping, forcing me to share with strangers, picking Captain America as your favorite superhero to intentionally wound me.” 

“Those things all make me sound like a good friend,” Scott points out. 

“Not the last one. That makes you sound like a perfect storm of bad taste and irrational idealism. McCall. You know where you would be without me? You’d be pencil-less and friendless right now, that’s where you’d be.” 

The locker room smells charmingly like feet, sweat, and shit, with just a hint of grass clippings. In three seconds, my nose gets used to it. Those three seconds are hell, though. This must be unconstitutional to subject students to. 

Soaking wet kid is in here too, walking into the showers with his gym clothes. “Why is he walking into the showers?” I say quietly. “What, like he isn’t wet enough?”

“He’s probably just shy,” Scott says. 

“Shy? Why? We all have the same tools. And none of the gay guys are like, gross about it. Danny actually refuses to look at me, which is starting to get offensive. Hurtful, even. I’m thinking about saying something to him about it.” 

We get changed at our lockers, into the super fun Beacon Hills T-shirt and gym shorts. “Do you think Coach will listen to my conscientious objector speech this time?” I ask Scott while I tie my shoes. “He seems like he's in a fairly good mood.” 

Scott’s staring at something over my shoulder instead of answering me so I turn to look. The wet kid’s changed and back out of the shower, and he’s got a big-ass bruise on his leg. Really huge, like the entire side of his thigh is purple. And now that we’re looking more closely, it’s pretty obvious that he’s limping.

“Shit,” I say in surprise. 

“Wow.” Scott’s tone is concerning - I look over at him. Sure enough, he has his compassionately worried look on. In the past, that look has made me stop my Jeep on the side of highways to rescue wounded dogs. Safe to say I don’t exactly look forward to it. “I wonder what happened,” he says. 

“I don’t know. Y’know what I bet it is, though?” 

He turns to me. “What?” 

“None of our business.” 

Scott is unamused. Scott and his Goddamn Steve Rogers sense of morality. I could punch him straight in the face, if only to make him look less compassionate. “I bet he needs to see the nurse,” Scott says. “And I bet he could use someone to help him get there.” 

“No, Scott, I bet he doesn’t. Scott.” 

He starts towards the kid looking totally and completely sincere. It’s the worst. I’m extremely glad Coach starts talking before my idiot best friend can. 

“Alright, so today we’ll be exploring the delightful sport of baseball,” Coach says. “I’m going alphabetically through this book-“ He holds it up. “-of sporting activities, and skipping anything we don’t have the equipment for. No prize for guessing next week’s sport.” 

Basketball, I would tell Scott if he weren’t inching towards the guy. It would probably be helpful to learn this rando's name at some point, and I am not about to let Scott do whatever dumbass thing he’s doing alone, so I go after him. 

“Hey, is your leg alright?” he asks the guy right as I get next to him. 

“Oh my god, Scott,” I mumble. 

“It’s fine,” the kid says. “Thanks.” 

“Sure. What’s your name?”

“Isaac. Isaac Lahey.” 

“Fascinating,” I say. “His last name is near yours, which would explain the seating arrangement. I am fascinated. Let’s go.” 

Scott gives me a look that he reserves for special occasions - it means he’s serious, like actually completely serious. This more than a human wounded puppy, he means it. So I shut up, reluctantly. 

“It’s fine,” Isaac says. “You can go.” 

“We’re going to the same place,” Scott says. “You need some help?” 

“No, I’m fine.” 

He’s tall, like ridiculously tall. Teenagers aren’t supposed to be that tall. Maybe he got held back several years. It’s truly preposterous. I’m going to have to discuss the parameters of acceptable height for Scott's rescues. 

Scott falls into step next to him on the way out to the gymnasium, so I fall into step with Scott. Isaac is totally limping, very badly, and he’s doing a terrible job of acting nonchalant about it. “You sure you don’t need help?” Scott says, in that knowing way that’s not smug enough to get mad at. 

“I’m fine,” Isaac says through gritted teeth. 

“Totally fine,” I mutter. “The picture of fineness. Look at just how fine he is.” 

“Stiles,” Scott says disapprovingly. 

“Yeah, yeah.” I shut up. 

One look at the bruise and Coach agrees to let Isaac sit out the game, and Scott does a very passionate rendition of my conscientious objector speech to get out too, while I can only watch from a few feet away. 

“What the hell, McCall?” I demand when Coach leaves to coach. 

“I got you out too,” Scott smiles. Captain America aside, he can be pretty damn devious when he wants to be. 

Then again, this means I have to sit next to him on the bleachers while he attempts to talk to this Isaac guy. It’s not my favorite place to be, but it’s not the worst, either. Better than gym. 

“So what happened to your leg?” 

“Nothing.” Isaac seems nearly as uncomfortable as I am. Small consolation, but it makes me annoyed with him slightly less. He looks out at the field and his non-bruised leg starts to bounce. Nervous for some reason. Huh. 

“If you need a ride home, Stiles can give you one,” Scott says then.

Which, I get the thought. Really, I do. With the leg, and the walking in the rain to school this morning, but it’s really not Scott’s place to volunteer my Jeep to this gangly giant, so I object. “Excuse me, what exactly will Stiles do?” 

Scott glares. Isaac scratches his forehead awkwardly. “It's fine, I don’t need a ride,” he says. 

“Are you sure?" Scott says. “Stiles makes a big deal out of things like this but he doesn’t mean it, really. Where do you live?” 

“Over by the MiniMart,” Isaac says reluctantly. 

So not even remotely on the way. I avoid mentioning that for the moment, to ward off Scott’s impending glare of doom. 

“Okay. Do you need a ride?” Scott says, remaining patient against all odds. 

“I don’t even know you, and you don't know me.” 

“That wasn’t the question.” 

“Scott McCall,” I can’t help myself from saying. “The most annoying person to ever try to help someone against their will for their own good.” 

Scott’s pissed but Isaac snorts. Another point in his favor, but he has about six hundred until he's anything close to in the clear. I don’t foresee it happening any time soon. “I’m really fine,” Isaac says. “Thanks.” 

“Okay.” 

For some reason, Scott giving up gets to me. “Oh, come on,” I burst out. “Really? The nicest Good Samaritan in the world is offering you a ride home and you have a freakin’ broken leg and you’re turning him down? How stupid do you have to be?” 

Both of them blink at me. Scott smiles. “The nicest Good Samaritan in the world?” he repeats. 

“Dibs on being your incredibly witty chauffeur.”

His dorky smile gets bigger and he turns back to Isaac. “Well. You got the nicest invitation from Stiles I’ve ever heard him give somebody. Ready to say yes yet?” 

Isaac, with an air of being extremely put-upon, agrees to it. “Fine. Only if you’re sure. Thank you.”

“Oh my God. You’re the least friendly person in the entire world,” I say.

“Are you sure about that?” he says dryly. 

“Scott. Scott Emmanuel McCall.” 

“That's not my name.”

“You sassed me! That was blatant, and disrespectful, and I’m furious.” 

Scott laughs, and that seems to cue Isaac in that we’re joking, here. Isaac doesn’t seem super into jokes. He barely smiles. Whatever. I watch the baseball game, and I play Bejeweled on my phone. 

“Hey,” I say at the end, when we get up. “How’d you make my speech work? What'd you do?” 

“I meant it,” Scott says. 

I roll my eyes and then glare at him. “Frickin’ Captain America,” I mumble.

“Or Superman,” Scott adds after a moment. “I like him too. He’s second.” 

“The other worst superhero. Why am I not surprised.” 

Isaac stumbles on his way down the steps, one leg giving out, and I end up being the one to catch his arm and keep him from going down hard. Whatever, it’s not a big deal. But he shakes my hand off of him really quickly, and he doesn’t thank me, which - I think I deserve thanks, don’t I? I deserve at least that. But I don’t get that. And I’m seriously considering reconsidering. 

“What happened?” Scott asks Isaac on the way back to the locker room. 

“Nothing,” Isaac says, then adds, “I ran into a table. In the dark.” 

“Wow,” I say. “A table. Was that table two feet thick? Was it a table that was actually a baseball bat, perhaps?” 

“Perhaps.” 

“Scott!! Now he’s sassing me,” I complain. “Y’know what I am?” 

“Hurt?” Scott guesses. 

“I believe I am, yes.”

When we get into the locker room, I head for my locker but Scott follows Isaac. “Any other riveting developments from the surly invalid?” I say when he eventually comes back to change. 

“He’ll meet us out back on the steps after school. Does he play football or something?” Scott asks, like that’s not some kind of pointless question. 

“Why would I know that? I didn’t know his name before today. He is such a non-entity to me-“

“A non-entity that can hear you, so be quiet.” 

I glare, and I roll my eyes, and I stay quiet. “Does he look like a football player? No. He looks like a tackle would crack him in half. Him and his spaghetti arms. So I’m gonna guess no. Plus, if it was a sports injury, he’d probably not go to such lengths to hide i.” 

“He _was_ covering something up,” Scott muses. 

“Wow. I wonder what it could be.” I shut my locker hard and hoist my backpack over my shoulder. 

Scott pulls on his shirt and follows suit. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean statistically.” 

“There are statistics on liars?” 

I roll my eyes so hard it hurts this time. I should try to tone that down. “No, genius. Statistics on domestic violence,” I say only after I’ve that checked no one’s eavesdropping. 

“What, you think his parents did his to him?” 

Bless Scott’s heart, honestly. “Yeah, maybe,” I say. “Since he’s weird, and a loner, and secretive, and extremely quiet about it.” 

“What does that mean? Are those some kind of warning signs?” 

“Yes, Scott. There are warning signs and those are some of them.” There are and those are, but I sound sarcastic about it anyways. This kid doesn’t get my seriousness, he doesn’t deserve it. Even if his parents did that to him. 

Okay, I don’t know if I stand by that. 

“Seriously,” Scott says. “Do you really know about this or are you just-“

“Of course I really know about this. My dad’s a cop, Scott. He gets reports of this shit, he… I know about it. Yeah.” 

“Has your dad gotten a report about him?” 

“Hell if I know. I didn’t know his name until today. I’m giving him a ride home, so just drop it, okay?” 

Scott drops it. But maybe that’s not entirely true, what I told him. Maybe I’m starting to remember a Coach Lahey Dad asked me about, swim team I think. A Coach Lahey who definitely had a solid couple domestic disturbance reports. Not recently. It was definitely back during that period of time when Dad thought it’d be good to have a mustache. That’d be during what, probably middle school. None more recently. And there wouldn’t be any recently if Coach Lahey’s an abuser who got better at hiding it. 

Okay. So maybe I shouldn’t have blown Scott off so hard. Now I’m going to have to backtrack, and that sounds a lot like admitting I’m wrong. Which I don’t like to do. 

On the other hand, I wasn’t lying when I said it’s none of our business. If this Isaac kid wants to limp around school and not tell anyone about why, that’s fine. Not my concern. 

But… back to the first hand. I’m the son of the sheriff. Don’t I have a responsibility to do something about this?

I’ve never done very well with responsibility. 

Shit.

I still haven’t really decided anything by the end of the day. All I know for sure is that Scott’s never been one to abandon a charity case, so this Isaac guy won’t get too far away any time soon. 

I run into Isaac before Scott, and I decide we can head to the car. Scott knows what my Jeep looks like, and watching Isaac try to stand and pretend he’s not in pain is kind of impossible. “Let’s go,” I say to him. “McCall will be out in a sec.” 

Isaac has been pretty busy pretending like I don’t exist, but he acknowledges me then. He nods. And he starts to limp down the stairs after me. God, it’s so pathetic. It’s honestly pathetic. I almost am ready to offer to help him. So I start to lecture him. 

“There are rules for the Jeep. Do not get dirt, blood, or food on any aspect of the Jeep. There will be no hitting or insulting of the Jeep. Any damage to the Jeep done by you will require financial compensation. I’d like a verbal confirmation that you agree to abide by these rules.”

“Okay.” 

“Okay like ‘Okay, here is verbal confirmation’ or is that ‘Okay, I hear you but I’m not going to give you it’?” 

“Okay, confirmation.” He doesn’t smile. He might not know I’m joking, come to think of it. I’ve been told I’m hard to read. 

I want to ask him about his dad. And I have terrible impulse control, so I ask. 

“Your dad’s the swim team coach, right?” 

He’s definitely scared to answer. Definitely. He ducks his head and avoids looking at me when he answers. “Yeah.” 

“You swim?” 

“No.” 

Hundred percent shut down. He really doesn’t want to talk about it. Like, really. I’m right, I can feel it in my gut. I’m gonna ask Dad about it. Or, more realistically, I’m going to steal his files on Coach Lahey. 

 

 

 

I’m bringing Dad his dinner tonight, and that’s the perfect opportunity to commit light theft. All it takes is a small fire, misdirection, and some pickpocketing to get me alone with the right file cabinet. 

Coach Lahey does have a file, and that file leads me to three separate domestic disturbance reports and five sets of hospital records. Isaac’s had his arm broken twice. The other times he went to the hospital, it was for a broken foot, a cut requiring stitches, and malnutrition. Huh. 

The reports on his dad are vague and unhelpful. Apparently the guy’s a loud yeller, and one woman said she heard breaking glass. 

So I was successful, but I didn’t learn anything. Alright. I guess I’ll have to talk to Dad if I want to know anything. And I want to know, because I'm the kind of person that likes to know things, and I don’t have to apologize for that. Nor do I have to explain myself. 

Dad’s in his office, just sitting back down to eat. When he sees me, he looks at me suspiciously. “Did you set that fire?” 

“What? I’m offended you could even think I’d do that. I’ve been in the bathroom. You really think I could commit arson?” He does. So I abandon that. “Hey. Do you remember looking into a Mr. Lahey? Coach Lahey?” 

“Looking into him how?” Dad’s not paying attention, he’s eating. 

“Dunno, somebody said he’s got a temper or something. Thought he probably had a record.” I’m going to have to confess if I want him to tell me anything, I can see it in his face. So I pretend to. “Look, since when is wanting some dirt on an asshole to hold over his head illegal?” 

“It’s called blackmail, and it _is_ illegal, actually.” Dad looks up at me. “Is he giving you a hard time?” 

“Do I blackmail people because they give me a hard time?” I say innocently. He give me a look. “Okay, fine. But no. Not me.” 

“Scott?” 

Let’s let him think that, sure. I look purposefully shifty. “Dad.” 

The Sheriff sighs deeply. “Which coach?” 

“Lahey.” 

Dad’s finally listening, and he definitely perks up at that. “Lahey?” 

“Yeah. You know anything about him?” 

He pushes his chair back from the desk then, and I know I’ve got him then. “You know his kid?” he asks. “I think he's in your grade.” 

“Yeah, Scott made me give him a ride home today.” 

Dad raises his eyebrows. “The kid have any bruises on him?” 

He knows. He totally knows. “Yeah, what about it?” 

“Well. I can’t prove this, understand, but I always thought that guy was… suspicious. Couple years ago, he had a string of domestic disturbance calls in twelve or eighteen months. Then, nothing.” 

“Huh.” I wait the appropriate number of beats. “You think he’s violent?” 

“No evidence of that. Unless you look at the number of times his kid has been in the hospital.” 

“What do you mean? Like when he broke his arm a while ago?” 

“Which time?” Dad says in a way meant to be Very Meaningful. I pretend to be surprised. “That kid's been in and out of the ER more than just about anyone else in town. Scott’s mom can probably tell you more about that.” 

“What about Mrs. Lahey?” 

“She died about five years back.” 

Well shit. “Huh. So I should talk to Mrs. McCall.” 

“I didn’t say that. Technically, we don’t have anything on the guy. I want to make that very clear.” 

“Crystal clear. This is by no means an official investigation. But unofficially.” 

“The guy’s a dick,” Dad says. “Tell me if he gives you any trouble.” 

“Will do. I’m gonna split, so I’ll see ya later.” 

“Alright. Stiles?”

“Yeah?” I stop in the doorway to look back at him. 

“No more arson.” 

“Dad.” I try out Scott’s innocent face, but it doesn’t work. So I go. 

 

 

I call Scott outside. “Where’s your mom?” 

“Working a double tonight. Why?” 

“No reason. Can I come over?” 

“Sure, when?” 

“Give me a half hour?” 

“Sure.” 

I go to the hospital. At the front desk, I ask for Melissa McCall, and although Brenda knows I’m not Scott, she lets me see her. I know how to get around the police station, but the hospital is full of people like Scott. Good people. I get more done here. 

“Hey, Stiles. Everything alright?” Mom asks when she sees me. 

“Yeah. Everything’s fine, I just have some questions. Do you know a kid, last name Lahey? In here a lot?” 

Mom looks at me sharply. “Why?” 

“Not for bad reasons. Just… I have some information from my dad I’m following up on. Off the record.” 

“Off the record?” she repeats, like it means something. I guess it kind of does, because I nod. “Alright. Yeah, I’ve seen him. The kid was in here a lot, especially a while ago. He stopped coming after one of the senior nurses asked about how he kept getting knocked around.” 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah. And if you tell anyone about that, I’m going to knock _you_ around, understood?” 

“I understand,” I nod. “I won’t say anything, I’m just trying to make sense of everything. Scott’s trying to make friends, and I’m doing a background check.”

“Oh yeah?” She tilts her head curiously. “What’d you find out from your dad?” 

“That’s off the record.” 

“Don’t be cute, Stiles,” she says firmly. 

“I don’t think I can help it.” But then I tell her, because I trust her. And if there’s one person who might be able to do something more than Scott, it’s his mom. “Well. There are some police reports about his dad.” 

“There are?” 

“Yeah. But don’t say anything.” 

“You’ve got it handled?” she says suspiciously. 

“Yeah. Really. And if it goes wrong, you know who I’ll come to first.” 

She sighs deeply, and then nods once. “Alright. C’mere.” She gives me a one-armed hug and adds, “You going to see Scott?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Alright. Don’t burn the house down.” 

“Promise.” My fingers are crossed behind my back, though. I try not to make any promises; I don’t like the idea of owing people anything. 

Scott’s home with the door unlocked, which is frickin’ ridiculous. I lock it behind me. “Scott!” I call. 

“Hey,” Scott says, coming out of his room. “I have a crazy idea.”

“Well buddy, you’re not the only one.” 

“What do you really think happened, though?” Scott continues, like a goddamn runaway do-gooding train. “Like to his leg. It wasn’t running into a table or whatever, because I’ve run into a table, we all have and it never looks like that, right? It just doesn’t.”

“No, it doesn’t.” I guess I’ll just have to get out of the way. 

“So like you said, it’s probably really him getting abused at home, right? He doesn’t play a sport or get in fights. It’s his parents, right? Probably? No older sibling or anything. And like isn’t there something you could do about it, or your dad could.” 

“Yeah.”

“So why aren’t you doing it?” 

“Calm down, Superboy. It’s called a domestic disturbance report.” 

“So can we do one?” 

“No. His neighbors would have to. Or we’d have to witness it.” 

“So what _can_ we do?” 

“Hate to break to you, but taking him home was about the limit for what we can do. Unless you happen to be a police officer that’s witnessed him being beaten.”

Scott looks taken aback. “You think he’s being beaten?” 

After tonight? I practically know it for a goddamn fact. Two plus two, table of elements, and Isaac Lahey, a kid I couldn’t pick out of a police lineup until eight hours ago, is being hit at home. I’m really glad my life has expanded to include this new fucking infallible goddamned fact. And my mental sarcasm is at an all-time high. 

“No,” I say. “Of course not. I’m just saying.” 

“Okay. Well, I’m not ready to give up on helping him.” 

“Okay…” 

“So I got his phone number, and I texted him and I volunteered you to pick him up.” Scott doesn’t look nearly sheepish enough. 

I’m going to murder him one day. “Scott. Why would you do a dumbass thing like that? His dad works at the school.” I could kick my own ass for saying that, actually. He probably avoids going anywhere with his dad. 

Luckily, Scott’s still the biggest softy in the world, so he doesn’t give up easy. “Well he still doesn’t have a ride. And he needs one.” 

“Fine,” I say. “Since you’ve left me literally no other choice.” 

“Great,” Scott says cheerfully. “Thanks.” 

“Do not thank me.”

“Thank you. You’re the best.” 

I am the best. He doesn't even know yet. 

 

 

Isaac's dead silent on the way to school. Scott’s trying to be nonchalant, and he does that mostly by being completely quiet. I don’t do very well just speaking with no one to speak with, so I stay quiet too. This is great. Great idea Scott. Thanks Scott. I keep glaring at him. 

“Stiles,” he says when we’re pulling into the parking lot. 

“Shut your mouth and get out of my car.” 

“What?” He’s genuinely surprised. 

“No, because you’re gonna be late, McCall, I told you that damn red light would make us late. And I know how much you’re into perfect attendance, go.” 

Scott grins and gets out. I park the Jeep. “I mean it, he’s obsessed with perfect attendance,” I tell Isaac. “The kid has few faults, and one of them is wanting to be good.” 

Isaac doesn’t say anything. Of course he doesn’t. And that annoys me. That really grinds my gears. So I piss him off and scare him, simultaneously, because I can do that. And while I might not want to be too open about it, I like to. Really. 

“Y’know, they all make sense to me except malnutrition. What’s that about?” 

I’m parking, so I don't get to look at him for a while. When I do glance in the rearview mirror, I see he’s frozen. “What do you mean?” he finally says. 

“You know what I mean.” 

“What?” 

“I said you know what I mean. What, did you not hear me?" I frown. 

He heard me. He’s in hardcore fight or flight right now, and his leg is almost fucking broken so he can’t run. “What are you talking about?” he says.

I turn around in my seat. “Isaac. My dad’s the sheriff.”

I watch the color drain from his face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says again, and then he gets out. Trying to flight, so I have to go after him. 

It’s not hard to catch up to him, for obvious reasons. He’s limping as fast as his long legs will take him, but I catch up in four steps. “Isaac.” 

“No,” he says, voice shaking. I did too good of a job. 

“I didn’t ask you a question.” 

“Just… stop. Please stop? I don’t need a ride or help or anything.” He doubles down to speed up, his face twisting, and I’m actually out of breath keeping up this time. 

“You sure about that, Lahey? ‘Cause I’ve got a sheriff and a nurse who’d say different.” 

I’m not talking loud but he jerks. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says. I get a look at his face, and holy fuck is he primally terrified. He’s shaking, he’s sweating, he’s walking so fast on that damn leg. I’ve made a terrible, terrible mistake. 

“I haven’t told anyone,” I backtrack. “Alright? Not even Scott.” 

That works about as well as anything could, I guess. He slows back down, and I see him remember how much his leg hurts now that he’s not in panic mode anymore. “Okay,” he says. 

“But you have to get that looked at, alright?” We both kinda stop before the steps to go inside, because inside someone will hear us. “I mean it,” I add. “You can’t avoid hospitals just because you don’t want someone to figure it out. It didn’t work, first of all.” 

He thinks about smiling, but just barely. “Okay.” 

I decide to push my advantage. “Scott’s gonna kick my ass if I don’t give you a ride, so leave that alone, alright? You’re getting a ride.” 

“Okay.” 

“Alright. See you next period.” And I walk into school victorious, a conquering hero who only fucked up a little bit and terrified the guy I’m trying to help. Not a bad way to start a Tuesday. 

“What happened?” Scott asks when he sees me. The perfect attendance thing is bullshit but my best friend is great at going along with schemes.

“Nothing. He’s coming with us after school. I’m taking him to your mom for his leg.” I haven’t told him that yet, but I don’t imagine he’ll fight very hard given the straight-up blackmail material I have on him. 

During gym, though, Isaac collapses. Coach won’t let him sit out another round, and his leg straight-up gives out. Scott is the first one over to help him, and I’m frankly upset that I’m third. 

“I’m fine,” Isaac says. 

“What do you mean, you’re obviously not,” Scott says. 

Isaac looks at me, desperate, and I don’t like him still, and I don’t enjoy working off someone else’s scheme, but I help. “Scott, say you did it.” 

“What?” 

“Say you did that to his leg. Lie,” I clarify, since Coach is coming over. “He’ll ask what happened, he won’t believe me, you’re more believable. Come on.” 

Scott narrows his eyes. “Did you…” 

“Not now, McCall, really.”

Thank God he trusts me, honestly. He’d be dead without me, and that’s an obvious reason for him to trust me, but thank God he does because he does it. 

“Jesus, it’s still that bad? What happened?” Coach says. He squats down to look at Isaac’s leg closely, and Isaac winces when he brushes the bruise. 

“He’s joining the lacrosse team,” Scott blurts. “We were training together and I tackled him weird.” 

Coach snorts. “As much as I appreciate you getting us the tallest kid in the world to join our team, I’d appreciate it if you’d do so in a way that doesn’t ensure him being benched for the next month. Lahey, get out of here. Go see the nurse.” 

“I’ll help him,” Scott volunteers. 

“Me too,” I add. 

Coach doesn’t argue, so Scott and me get Isaac up and moving. The guy’s ridiculously tall, honestly. I don’t think just one of us could keep him up. 

“Are we really going to the nurse’s?” Isaac asks. 

“No,” I answer. “We’re going to the hospital.” 

“What?!” 

“Scott,” is all I have to say to get some backup. 

“My mom’s a nurse,” he says. “She’ll help us out. And that really doesn’t look good, you need to see somebody.” 

“And you’re going to now,” I take over. I’m bad cop. “I have my keys and we’re leaving. We’ll come back for your stuff. Nothing bad will happen to you, we’re helping you. Okay?” 

“Okay,” Isaac says meekly. 

Scott helps him into the front seat of my Jeep and hovers for the whole ride until he can help him out again. Isaac’s tense as hell, glancing at both of us, back and forth. “She can’t say anything,” he appeals to me when Scott’s out of the car for a second. I think he might find me more approachable which is the worst news I’ve heard all day. 

“Yeah, yeah.” I shrug noncommittally. She can, actually. She probably should. But when Scott and I tell her there’s a kid like this who will only come in if she promises not to, she’ll promise. And she’ll mean it. 

And, because I’m a genius, that’s exactly what happens. We get Isaac in a room with her and no paperwork. Scott and I watch from the wall. 

“Jesus,” Mom says when she sees his thigh. “Stiles.” 

“I got him here as soon as I could.” 

Scott frowns. “What is that supposed to mean?” 

“I’ll explain later,” I say under my breath. “What’s wrong with him, though? How long till it’s good?” 

“How long? Around four weeks, if you’re lucky. I can get you something for the pain, but this is going to have to heal on its own.” 

Isaac nods. “Thank you.” 

She looks at him for a long second. “So why am I keeping this out of your file?” she says. 

He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even try. “Please,” he says. 

“Yeah, alright,” she says after a second. “I’m going to prescribe you some Percocet for the pain. Probably giving you a killer headache, right?” He nods. “Alright. Two of these a day, one every twelve hours. But otherwise…” 

“I know, that’s why I didn’t come in before.”

“You need crutches,” she says firmly. “You need to keep your weight off that leg and rest it as much as possible. It’s not a deep tissue bruise but it’s pretty damn close.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“Alright.” She looks at me, and then at Scott before finally looking back at Isaac. “You should really be supervised for the next twenty-four hours.” 

“We’ve got school hours covered,” Scott says cheerfully. 

“Uh huh.” She looks back at me. 

It take an embarrassing couple of seconds for me to get it. “Oh. Yeah. Well, we could have a sleepover,” I say, only slightly off-cue. “So you can keep an eye on him all night.” 

“Great idea,” Mom says firmly, over Scott’s confusion. “I get off at ten. Isaac, stay here.” 

“Why?” he says, already scared.

“Because I need to know how this medication affects you. Stiles and Scott, get out of here. I’ll make you something to eat when I get home.” 

Scott goes along with it. He even kisses her on the cheek goodbye, and he waits until we’re in the car to ask questions. Impressive self-restraint. 

“Have you been in cahoots with _my mom_?” 

“In _cahoots_?” I demand. “What are you, sixty-five?” 

“Stiles.” 

“Okay. Slight cahoots. I just wanted to ask her some questions the other night, but it ended up being a lot more than that, really. I didn’t really mean to. It was inadvertent cahoots.” 

Scott frowns, he doesn’t smile. “Is it about Isaac?” 

“Well, yeah.” I try to keep my mouth shut, but of course I can’t. “Between my dad and your mom, I kinda definitely found out… it’s not much of a question anymore. Where the whole leg thing happened. And his mom is dead.”

“Shit.” Scott looks out the window. He’s probably mad at me. It would make sense for him to be - I basically lied to him, and I still haven’t really told him why. “Is he okay?” he finally asks. “Do you know? Like… does he know you know?” 

“Yeah. It kind of sounded like I was threatening him with it, but we got past that part. I may have told him I wouldn’t tell anyone else, particularly you, but come on. That was a reasonable expectation.” 

Scott snorts. “Not really. Not a great secret keeper. Well, what are we going to do about it?”

“What are we going to _do_ about it?” I demand. “Do? Nothing. We can’t do a damn thing, Scott, you know that.” 

“No I don’t.” 

“After that big conversation about domestic disturbance reports?” 

“It was about three sentences,” Scott says, “and you just said we can’t do _that_. Now that we know it’s happening, can’t we do something else?” 

“No.” 

“Don’t just say no.” 

“The answer is no, McCall, what else do you want me to say? We can’t do anything unless we see his dad doing it. And even then, it might not work. This is a shitty situation. Wanting it to be different doesn’t make it different.” 

“I know that. That’s not what I’m saying. But why can't we at least try?” 

“Because!” And then I can’t think of a reason. Of course we can try. The stupidity of optimism isn’t exactly a good reason not to. 

Scott’s watching me. “Come on. Please?” 

“Fine. What do you want to do?” 

“Be his friends,” Scott says firmly. 

“God, Scott.” I sigh very deeply and haul the steering wheel around to just make a left turn on a yellow. 

“I’m serious! I want to give him a team, friends. Maybe he could actually join lacrosse.” 

“Great idea, Scott. Get the frequently injured kid into a contact sport.” 

“No, get the frequently injured kid away from the person that injures him and onto a team so he feels supported, Stiles, so it actually is a good idea. What do you have against him?” 

“Nothing, it’s just. We don’t know him. And you’ve taken three seconds to decide he’s going to be part of us? Or whatever?” 

“His dad’s hurting him.” 

He doesn't have to say it loudly for me to get his point. And it’s a good one, even. I’m not heartless. “Fine,” I say. “But you can’t ask me to like him.” 

“I am asking that.” 

We’re in the school parking lot. I probably brake a little too hard after we park. “Damn it, Scott.” 

“Will you do it?” 

“Yeah, fine. Whatever.” I get out and very firmly do not slam my door. He’s not totally wrong. He’s my best friend, he never is _totally_ wrong. But I really don’t like it. 

“He seems nice,” Scott says after a moment.

“Yeah, well if we made friends with every _nice_ person in the world, we’d be friends with a lot of idiots with no sense of humor. Doormats.” 

Scott shrugs. “Well, he’s nice.” 

“Alright.” I stop arguing. “Where is that giant idiot going to sleep?” 

“On my bed, probably. Given the enormous injury on his leg,” he adds when I sigh deeply. 

“Fine, fine. Sleeping bags it is.” 

“That’s more like it. Be nice to him. Don’t make him feel bad.” 

“When have I ever made a person feel bad?” I begin, before reconsidering that obviously idiotic denial. “I’ll do my best.” 

“Alright. What time is it?” 

“We’re just in time for lunch.” 

Scott nods victoriously. “Yes.” 

“Even better, I think it’s chocolate pudding day.” 

“Double yes.” 

 

 

Mom gets home around ten thirty, exhausted. Scott and me knew she’d be tired, so we made dinner. Granted, it’s just frozen pizza and carrots, but she lights up when she sees it. “Oh, thanks guys,” she says, and she gives each of us a one-armed hug. Isaac comes in on crutches, looking very sheepish. 

“Hey,” Scott says. “How do you feel?” 

“Fine. Better,” Isaac corrects after a look from Mom. “I really don’t need crutches though.” 

“Tell that to your leg.” She takes some pizza and carrots, and then prompts Isaac, “Have some, c’mon.” 

“If you’re sure,” he mumbles, and hobbles over to the counter. 

“I can take your bookbag,” Scott offers. “And we have all the homework and stuff. You’re in the AP classes, right” 

“Yeah.” Isaac looks taken aback. The McCalls can be kind of overly hospitable, it’s unnerving. I get it. 

So I do my best to counter it. “Don’t get any sauce on anything. And Scott has a strict bedtime. If he gets off his schedule, he cries. And I don’t want to see that. So behave yourself, alright?” 

“Okay.” 

“I don’t have a bedtime,” Scott grumbles. 

Mom smiles and ruffles her hair. “Maybe you should, babe. You’ve looked tired recently, you sleeping enough?” 

“Yeah, Mom. Couch?” 

“Sure. Or you can eat in your room if you want.” 

Scott looks at Isaac, who doesn’t respond, and then at me. I shrug. “Either way, I don’t care.”

“Well, then with Mom,” Scott says, so that’s that. 

When Mom goes to bed, we go to Scott’s room. He stays behind to talk to her, which means when Isaac eventually hobbles his way there, it’s just the two of us in Scott’s bedroom. 

“You get the bed, and don’t argue unless you’re willing to deal with Scott’s disappointed-yet-firm face. He gets it from his mom.” I pull the sleeping bags down from the top shelf of Scott’s closet. 

“Do they both know now?” Isaac asks in response. 

“Oh. Well, kinda. I mean I didn’t tell them. But they kinda knew it already. Well, Mom did. Scott figured it out himself. But it’s not like you exactly make it hard.” I take the pillows off the bed, then look at him and reconsider. He can have _one_ pillow. 

“Make what hard?” 

“Make it hard to figure out your dad’s abusing you,” I say flatly. 

He flinches when I say it, and oh God how deep into this is he? Five years since his mom died, he was eleven or twelve. Five years is a long time. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says. 

“Sure you don’t.” 

“I don’t,” he insists. 

“What, can you only talk about it if we don’t say the words?” 

I watch his jaw clench. He’s in very, very deep. “I don’t really want to talk about it at all, so.” His voice shakes. 

“Jesus.” I drop the pillows so I can cross my arms more effectively. “Look, Lahey. Scott’s gonna want to talk about it too, so you might as well try and figure out how to do it. Plus, y’know, that might help out with the whole… Stockholm Syndrome thing you’ve got going on there.” 

He’s alarmed by that. “What? Why do I have to talk about it?” 

“You don’t have to. But you’ll want to. I get around Scott and I want to talk about my mom and… well, that’s not relevant.” What the fuck am I saying to this gangly giant. I have to turn the attention back to him somehow. “So, malnutrition, huh? What’s that about?” 

He goes pale again, and he gets shifty. “I don’t know.” 

“Alright, buddy. Sure you don’t.” 

Scott comes in then, smiling. “So you can have the bed.” 

“Stiles told me,” Isaac nods, and takes a hesitant seat on the bed. “Are you sure?” 

“Yeah, it’s fine. You want some pajamas?” Scott doesn’t wait for his response. He also throws me some pajama pants because he can read my mind. “We don’t have another toothbrush beside’s Stiles’, but you can have an apple,” Scott says. “Is that okay?” 

“Sure.” Isaac is slightly unnerved, but he takes the pajamas. He considers leaving before changing, I can see it, but he decides against it. Uncomfortably, he pulls his jeans off and the pajamas on. And just because he’s being so awkward about it, I watch out of the corner of my eyes. 

That bruise on his leg is just the worst, but not the only one. There’s a lot. Abrasions and contusions, Dad says when he’s trying to sound fancy. It’s bad. 

Scott sees it too, I think. “So you should join the lacrosse team,” he says. “Do you play any sports?” 

“No,” Isaac says. “Haven’t got the time, I’ve been… I’ve been focusing on my grades. So.” 

“Your dad gonna have a problem with you joining the lacrosse team?” I say on a hunch. 

Isaac glances at me sidelong. “No. Probably not. As long as my grades don’t get worse, it should be fine.” 

“Do you want to, then?” Scott says. 

“Yeah. Sure. Sounds fun.” 

I’m sure it does sound fun. I’m sure it sounds like a wonderful time, for the kid who’s getting hit to play a sport where he’ll get professionally tackled. Maybe he’s a masochist or something. 

“How’s the Sheriff?” Scott asks. 

“He’s fine. Normal. Solving crimes and stuff, I guess. I should probably let him know where I am,” I add to myself. “Mind if I call him?” 

“Not at all.” 

Isaac doesn’t answer, but I figure I’m fine. Dad picks up on the fourth ring. “Hey Stiles. What’s going on?” 

“I’m staying at Scott’s for the night, ‘kay?” 

“Okay. Y’need anything?” 

“Nope.” 

“Alright, I’ll see ya tomorrow then.” 

“Okay. Bye.” 

“Bye.” 

I hang up and give Scott a thumbs up. “We’re fine.”

“Cool.”

Isaac doesn’t say anything. I should really stop noting that, because it’s not really new and never will be. Talking is the exception for that oddball. 

Scott doesn’t push it. He starts a game of Mario Kart and tosses me a controller. “Isaac, you play?” 

“No,” he says. “It’s fine, you go.” 

“Yeah, McCall. Don’t make him play, I’ll just wipe the floor with both of you losers. I’m Jack Kerouac on the road and you’re about to be roadkill.” 

“That’s a really odd reference to make,” Scott mumbles. 

“Winners get to make the references, my friend.” 

I do wipe the floor with him, of course, but he’s a good sport. I get to wipe the floor with him again three more times, and then Scott falls asleep while playing. 

“He always does this, he’s not super exhausted or anything,” I say to Isaac. Gently, I pluck the controller from Scott’s hands and stick a pillow under his head. 

“Okay.” Isaac’s just watching. He isn’t comfortable around here, obviously, so it’s down to me turn off the lights and TV and everything. Then I get back in my sleeping bag and lie there awkwardly for almost a minute. That’s how long it takes for Isaac to say whatever’s been on his damn mind all night. 

“I don’t need help.” 

“That’s your opener?” I demand. “Really?” 

“I don’t. And you are both really… nice, or whatever, but I don’t need you to-“

“Yes, you do.” I’m being too loud - Scott stirs. So I get up and go to sit on the bed. Isaac shifts away from me, which, of course he does. Whatever. I sit. “I don’t know if I’ve ever met someone who needs more help than you do.” 

“I’m fine,” he says defensively. 

“Alright. Sure you are.” I get up, but Isaac stops me. 

“What happened with your mom?” 

“She’s dead. Any other questions?” 

Isaac shakes his head. “Sorry.” 

“Whatever. Night.” 

 

 

After the sleepover, Isaac avoids us. “I’m not making it up, right?” Scott says. “He’s definitely avoiding us.” We’re the last ones in the locker room, so it’s a safe space for conversation. 

“We’re in half our classes together and he has somehow managed to avoid talking to us for eight school days. He ignored your texts last weekend, and he brushed it off when we tried to talk to him. And he didn’t join the lacrosse team. The message is crystal clear.” 

“Why, though?” 

I shrug. “Why does anybody do anything?” 

“Stiles.” 

“I don’t know! I dunno. Maybe he’s not ready for help.” 

“How could he not be ready for help? He’s being hurt.” 

“He knows that, I’m sure.” 

Scott rolls his eyes. “Seriously, though. I don’t get it. Why wouldn’t he want to get out of there?” 

“Because. To want to get out of there, he’d have to admit there’s something wrong in the first place, and that guy is seriously in denial.”

“You think?” 

“Yeah, I think. You’ve heard him talk, right?” 

“Yeah. Good point.” Scott shuts his locker. “Geez. I wish I could just do something.” 

“Y’know, maybe that’s the problem,” I suggest. “Maybe he’s like a cat, like, you have to ignore him and let him come to you.” 

“But what if he doesn’t come. Or maybe his dad freakin’ kills him.” 

“Then that’s really sad, Scott, but we can’t make him want help.” 

Scott screws up his mouth, which means he’s actually upset. “Right,” he says. 

I feel bad. I really do. Not just because Scott feels bad, either. I am genuinely regretful. Nobody should get beat at home, I do believe that wholeheartedly. I just know when I’m fighting a losing battle. 

“I’m gonna head home,” Scott says then. 

“You want a ride?” I know if he’s mentioning it, he doesn’t, but I ask. That’s what friends do. 

“Nah, I’m gonna walk.” 

“Okay. Don’t get down about this, really.” 

Scott nods with a tight smile, but he doesn’t really mean it. He feels guilty, and he’s not very good at dealing with that. He wants to save the world. And I’m the unfortunate Bucky Barnes who loves him too much to tell him he can’t. 

I think it’s perfectly understandable that when Isaac walks up to my car, I react badly. One could even probably describe me as hostile. “The fuck do you want?” I say.

“Is Scott upset?” 

“Oh, do you care?” 

Isaac looks chastened, at least, and he hunches his absurdly tall shoulders. “I don’t want him to feel _bad_ ,” he says. “I just don’t need anything.” 

“What, like friends?” 

He just shrugs. 

“Fine. Well, you make my best friend feel like shit just because it isn’t convenient for you that the nicest goddamn person in the world wants to help you, so I don’t really feel like interpreting your moody silences. You got something to say or not?” 

He looks at me and shrugs again, then adds, “I know he’s nice, and you too. But it’s not… I can’t.” 

I think this is him trying, somehow. He can’t talk about it, but at least he doesn’t deny it right now. 

So I give him an threatening ultimatum. I’m not a perfect person. 

“Look, my dad’s the sheriff. So I know what this is like. I bet he probably has you feeling totally isolated right now, right?” He won’t meet my eyes. “Feeling like he’s totally in control. And Scott doesn’t know why but his instinct is to fight that for you. With you. So you can let him try, or you can let your dad win. It’s your choice. But that’s it. There’s no third choice somewhere in between. So you wanna pick now? Or you need some time to mull it over.”

He looks at me for several long beats. “How do you know?” 

“What it’s like?” Apparently he can’t even say that much, but he nods when I say it. “Morbid curiosity. Dad leaves files and shit around. Naturally inquisitive nature. I dunno. You going home?” 

“Yeah.” He’s got fear in his eyes, Jesus. He’s making this really hard. 

“Wanna come home with me instead?” 

He wants to. He totally wants to. But he shakes his head. “Can… can we talk Monday?” 

“Yeah, whatever,” I kind of sigh. “Fine.” 

“Okay.” 

“You need a ride?” 

“No. I’m going home with my dad.” 

“Okay. See ya later, then.” 

As I’m pulling out of the parking lot, I see Isaac joining a man by a car. I can’t see anything more than that, but I can only imagine how scared he is. 

Actually I can’t. So I stop trying. 

 

 

Monday comes, and Isaac isn’t in school. 

Whatever. Totally no sense of foreboding. I’m definitely not distracted into good behavior most of the day. 

But maybe Math on Tuesday is little tense. Scott heads to the bathroom, so I’m waiting in suspense on my own. 

Isaac comes in looking like shit. He’s pale, dark circles under his eyes mixed with a fun black eye. He avoids my eyes. I don’t know why he thought that would work. 

“What the hell, dude?” 

He flinches, and he glances at me for a second. “I’m sorry,” he says immediately. 

“Okay…” 

“Can we talk later? Gym?” His voice shakes. 

“Fine, whatever.” 

Scott comes back and looks at Isaac with intense interest. “Hey, how are you?” he asks, sounding friendly. 

“Fine.” 

“We’re talking next period,” I inform Scott. 

“Oh, okay.” 

Isaac flinches a lot. Something happened this weekend. 

In the locker room, Isaac hovers near us after we get changed. I herd the three of us behind the furthest row of lockers to talk. “What?” I say impatiently. 

“I want to… I want to come over,” he finally says. “Will you… is that okay?” 

“That’s fine,” Scott says immediately. “Yeah. How long you want to stay?” 

Isaac shrugs. He won’t look either of us in the eye, and even time we shift he does too. “What?” I say. “Something happened this weekend. What?” 

“I can’t talk about it,” he says. 

“Well, at least you’ll talk about that,” I mumble. Scott hits my arm, and Isaac winces for me. “Something wrong?” I ask him again, directly. “Really. Aaand you’re shrugging again. Great.” 

Scott asks the real good guy question. “Can we do anything for you?” 

“No. I’m fine.” 

“What a brilliant lie,” I say. “Really great attempt at making it convincing.” 

Isaac actually smiles at that, hesitantly. “I’m working on it,” he says. 

“He’s working on it, Scott,” I say. “No reason to worry.” 

Scott smiles at me, and Isaac flushes. “You can come home with us,” Scott officially says. “Do you want to spend the night?” 

“Um. Yeah? Do you really want me to?” 

“Sure,” Scott shrugs. “Stiles spends the night more than he doesn’t. Mom doesn’t care as long as we let her sleep. Speaking of which, do you need her to look at anything?” 

“No,” Isaac shakes his head. 

“You sure about that?” I say. I don’t want to say it out loud, but I know something terrible happened to him. His body language is an open book, and I saw how he looked on Friday. But even though he was terrified, he didn’t take the out I gave him. He’s protecting his dad, with everything he has. So I’m not surprised that he nods. “Sure you’re sure.”

Isaac looks at me, and I can tell he knows I know he’s lying. I don’t say anything. Scott can tell, even if he doesn’t know all the psychological bullshit I’ve guessed at. “Okay,” he says. “Well, she’ll still help out when she’s off, so. Yeah, come home with us.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Sure. You going to lunch?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Come with us.” 

“Okay.” 

He’s choosing to accept help. Choosing Scott, and I guess to a degree, me. It takes balls. So I take it easy on him. And in the end, I drive him with us back to Scott’s.

 

 

Mom’s absolutely delighted to have Isaac over. She fusses over him, over his black eye and the cut on his hand she finds. Scott is more than friendly. And I am downright surly. He comes into my best friend’s house, keeping a secret, and he doesn’t confide in him? It makes sense, I guess, but it’s also shitty. 

I don’t say anything - or I don’t say too much, I guess - while Mom’s awake. Let him have his normal family experience. I’ll yell at him later. Not actually yell, because I think he’ll die or something, if I do. But yell in spirit. 

Scott knows something’s up. After his mom’s gone to bed, he looks at me. “Whatever it is, dude, say it.” 

“I’m glad we can help you, or whatever. But it’s pretty tough to sympathize with a guy who won’t tell us anything. Right?”

“Well,” Scott hedges. He's trying to play the middle, as usual. No fighting. That instinct probably will play to his favor with Isaac, the kid terrified of conflict. 

I am not afraid of conflict, though. I enjoy it. “I’d just like to spare all of us the misery of an explanation that’s a lie since you can’t admit what your dad does to you,” I say. “Is that too much to ask? Verbal confirmation?” 

“I-“ Isaac begins to answer. 

Scott cuts him off. “Yeah, Stiles, it is. I don’t make you talk about anything. There’s no talking rule.” 

“There Goddamn _should_ be. Especially when the topic of conversation is fucking child abuse.” 

“Quiet down. Mom’s sleeping.” 

“We can communicate in sign language, if that’d make you feel better, but I’m on the verge of demanding.” 

I wish Scott knew me less sometimes. He knows I’m mostly just stirring shit up. So he doesn’t take me seriously. “Alright. I’ll consider it. Are you done?” 

“Am I?”

“Probably not. But we still have homework to do.” 

He has a point. “Fine. Detente.” 

After homework, the night ends with more Mario Kart. Scott falls asleep to it, as usual, and I turn everything off after, as usual. Scott’s in the bed today, because Isaac and I insisted, which means I’m sleeping next to the kid. And it also means that I’m more than acutely aware how he holds his breath after I lie back down. 

“Do not do this, alright,” I say firmly. “Either we’re going to talk or we aren’t. This third option when you hem and haw really isn’t my speed.” 

“I know.” He doesn’t say anything for a while, though. I watch him fiddle with the hem of his blanket, and I’m about to snap at him when he speaks. “I can’t say anything when both of you… I mean, I don’t mind both of you knowing, but I just can’t tell two people.” 

I wonder if he’s ever sounded confident. If he has, I haven’t heard it. “Fine.” 

“It’s just… how you said it before, I can’t really talk. About it.” 

“What’s your endgame?” I ask him. “How do you see this going? You’re going to use Scott and me to get out of your house as much as you can but you aren’t going to tell us anything about what he does besides what we can see on you?” 

“I… I don’t know how to answer that.” 

“Where were you Monday? Why weren’t you at school?” 

“I got a B on a math test, stupid mistake,” he mumbles. 

“That’s not a reason. It’s not even related.” Unless his dad’s fanatic about grades and that grade got him punished in some horrific way. But I don’t say it out loud when I figure that out. I want him to say it, I want him to prove he’s… well, he’s worth it, I guess. If that’s okay to think. Getting him any amount of distance from the man who’s been abusing him for five years is going to be hard, and I’m not big on lost causes. 

“He tried to avoid my face, at first,” Isaac says quietly. “But he stopped a couple years back. Because nobody noticed.” 

Well, shit. “Yeah? How’d he know?” 

“He’s at the school, he sees everything.” 

“Everything? Literally? Does he know about Scott and me? Does he know where you are right now?” 

“Yeah. He knows where I am. But not who you guys are, no.” 

“So he doesn’t see everything. But he wants you to think he does, probably. He doesn’t know what you’re saying right now.” 

Isaac’s quiet. “Yeah. But if he asks…” 

“What, you can’t lie? That’s probably part of your problem right there. Lying gets me out of everything with my dad, or at least it annoys him enough to stop asking questions.” I sit up. 

Isaac stays horizontal. “I don’t really want to annoy my dad.” 

“Good point. Doesn’t seem to end well.” 

I’m being a dick and he snorts. He’s starting to get it. “Right.” 

He doesn't continue, so I don’t say anything either. It's his conversation. I’m a mostly unwilling participant. Or at least a very blasé one. 

“I’m not using you,” he says after a moment. 

“Okay…”

“Or I don’t mean to. I can go home, I really just… I thought you wanted me to come over. If that was using you, I’m sorry-“

“Stop, I was just giving you shit. You don’t need an excuse to get away from a guy who hits you even if it is your dad,” I add under my breath. “And Scott doesn’t mind having you over. He loves having people over like, constantly.”

“Okay. I can’t be over constantly, though. He doesn’t like me to be out of the house most of the time.” 

I nod. “We could come over.” Just throwing it out there. 

“Maybe.” He sits up and picks at his thumbnail. “How’d you get my medical files?” 

“Oh. They’re in the police file on your dad. The Sheriff is just waiting for an excuse to arrest your dad.” 

“He can’t,” Isaac says instantly. “He really can’t.”

“He’ll go to jail.” 

“No he won’t. He’ll get off somehow, and he’ll be so angry…” His voice shakes. 

“My dad will make it stick.”

“Okay, so he’ll be in jail for a year, maybe? Five? It’s not long enough. He'll get out and kill me.”

Even if that's not true, his fear is real enough. “You think he won't kill you now?” I ask. 

“He won’t,” Isaac says quietly. “He won’t let me leave, he won’t kill me and let me out that way.” 

“Shit, that’s dark,” I say on accident. 

“Well.” 

“Guess that’s good enough.”

Isaac nods, and looks out the window. “You can tell Scott this,” he says. “But. Sometimes I won’t be at school for a couple days or something. You can’t come to my house and try and find me. I’ll come to you when I can.”

“Why can’t we come to you?” 

“Because Dad won’t let you see me, and I’ll be in more trouble.” 

That is too fucked up, but hell, he probably knows what he’s talking about. “Okay,” I say. “Well, then yeah. I’ll tell Scott.” 

“Thanks.” 

“Don’t thank me. You didn’t really give me a choice, did you. Either I do what you want or I’m responsible for some nasty shit, so.” I turn and lie down because I’m annoyed. And also tired. And we have school tomorrow. 

Isaac lies down too. “Still,” he says after a bit. “Thank you.” 

“Whatever. G’night.” 

“Night.” 

I fall asleep waiting for him to fall asleep. 

 

 

So Scott and I now have an awkward tall shadow throughout our school days. He’s unassuming enough, I don’t exactly mind. It’s a threesome at lunch now, and Isaac feels comfortable to ask questions. About fucking _everything_. 

“There’s a new girl here,” Scott says in an undertone. 

“Oh really?” I say sarcastically. “The one you’ve been staring at in literally every class? That girl?” 

“What’s her name?” Isaac asks. 

“Allison Argent.” Scott’s looking past me, at her, no doubt. “She’s sitting by Lydia. I think Lydia’s decided they’re going to be friends. Hey, buddy, double date?” He nudges my arm. 

“Shut up,” I grumble. 

“Do you like Lydia?” Isaac asks. 

“None of your Goddamn business. Yes.”

Isaac gives me a weird little smile. “She’s pretty cool. Smart.” 

“I know. I know she’s smart. Brilliant, even. And gorgeous. And I have even less of a chance with her than I have with… with Danny. Probably.” I take a large angry bite of my sandwich. “I’d be an excellent boyfriend.”

“To Lydia or Danny?” Scott asks. 

“Either one! I’m charming.” 

“I doubt Danny finds it charming when you ask about condom brands.” 

Isaac looks at me with raised eyebrows, and I glare. “Forgive me for trying to learn. Alright? To educate myself. Stop highlighting my faults to try to cover up how smitten you are with the new girl and go ask her out.” 

“I can’t just ask her out! I don’t know her. She’ll think I’m shallow.” 

“You are a little bit shallow,” I point out. “But you should still ask her out.” 

“I’ll talk to her in Chemistry,” Scott says. “Introduce myself. Find a common interest.” 

I’m nodding sarcastically. “Ask if she has a checking account. Talk about which air freshener you like best.” 

He continues unconcernedly. “And after we’ve built up a relationship and mutual respect, I’ll ask if she’d go on a date with me.” 

“Do not do it that lamely. I’m begging you, Scott.”

“It’s not lame,” he grumbles. “I’d like to take it slow.”

“That’s not slow, that’s glacial.” 

Scott sticks his tongue out at me, which is universal code for not knowing how to respond. “She likes pink lemonade,” he observes. “And she’s a vegetarian. I heard her in the lunch line.” 

“You’re pathetic.” 

He glares, and he picks at his interestingly-colored jello. “I’m respectful,” he says. “And she’s so…”

“Calm down, Aladdin. We’ll get you your princess.” 

“Again,” Scott says. “Weird reference.” 

“Oh, shut up.” I sigh. 

They’re teamed up in Chemistry for an experiment. From there, it’s every bit as cliched and sappy as I knew it would be. They’re the two cutest dorks ever to have crushes on each other. Whatever.

 

 

For the first time in a while, it’s just me and Scott at his house on a Friday night. He’s getting so busy, with work, dating Allison - their standing dates on Saturdays really cramp my weekend style - and taking care of Isaac half the time. Being alone is honestly a relief.

“So how’s that stalker?” I ask Scott. “The creepy older guy.” We’re making dinner, like some kind of suburban idiots. I am in charge of the meatballs. Scott’s in charge of the sauce.

“Still following me around,” Scott says. “He stays away when I’m with Allison, though, and that’s nice.” 

“Good. I’m about to report him, for being creepy as all get out.” 

Scott snorts. “I probably should. I’ll talk to your dad if he doesn’t stop.” 

“You’d better. He lives in the woods, Scott. In a burned out house. And I swear to God I’ve seen him lick his lips looking at you.” 

“You have not, c’mon.” 

“I swore to God! Scott! Also, and not that I’m complaining but we haven’t gone camping, y’know. Are you ready to admit defeat on that?” 

“No, we’ll go.”

“Alone?” 

“Yeah, what do you mean?

I try not to say it, but I have to and burst out, “We never get alone time anymore.”

“Sure we do,” Scott frowns. 

“Not without the puppy we’ve adopted. Or your girlfriend, or your girlfriend and Lydia, who remains stubbornly not into me.” 

Scott nods. “The puppy’s Isaac, right?” 

“Well.” 

“What do you want alone time for?” he asks. 

“Nothing,” I say after a second. “Nothing in particular. But it’s the principle. We need to reserve space for just us, Scott. The relationship needs time.” I put a hand over my heart. 

He snorts. “Sure. Are those done?” 

“Yes they are. But I’m serious!” 

“Okay. Well we have all of tonight. What do you want to talk about?” 

“I’m sure I’ll think of something.” I get plates out and set them at the kitchen table. “We should talk about how weird Allison’s dad is.”

“He’s not weird, you’ve only met him once.”

“He is weird, there’s a lot of weird guns in his house and he’s like some kind of weird militia leader. I bet he’s killed somebody before.” 

“Why would you say that? Don’t tell me that.” 

“I’m sorry. You will absolutely be his next victim,” I inform him seriously. “One day, he’ll show up here with one of those weird guns-“ 

There’s a knock on the door, and Scott actually jumps, the dork. I love it. “Oh, you are never living that one down, McCall.” 

“You jumped too,” he calls after me. 

I definitely didn’t, but I don’t argue because I’m opening the door. 

There’s a man here, a large angry man that I don’t know. It’s raining, and there’s water on his glasses. I see his car running in the driveway. “Where’s my son,” he says. 

“I don’t know,” I say. “Who are you? That would probably help.” 

“I’m Coach Lahey.” 

“Okay. Hello. Nice to meet you. I’m doing great, thank you.” I’m partially stalling and partially trying to piss him off. I don’t like him. I didn’t like him before I knew he was Isaac’s dad. 

He pushes past me into the house, back towards the kitchen, probably because it’s the only lit room in the house. “Where is he?” he roars. 

Scott is right where I left him in the kitchen, stirring the sauce. “Who are you?” he says when he sees Mr. Lahey. 

“Where is he? I know he’s here.” 

“Um, hey. It’s me, the guy you pushed past.” I step in front of him, closer to Scott, and give him a little wave. “Hey. If you’d take three seconds to listen to me, you’d’ve known there’s no one here besides Scott, the person that lives here, and me, his best friend. So if you could get out of here before I call the police, who I happen to be related to, that’d be great.” 

“I know he’s here,” Isaac’s dad says to Scott. “Where is he?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Scott says firmly. “And I’d like you to leave now. Before we call Stiles’ dad.” 

Scott doesn’t sound like that often. It’s the voice he had to develop as the son of a single mom, the one that made him sound like the man of the house long before he actually was. I don’t usually like it, but it comes in handy sometimes. Like now. 

Mr. Lahey backs down, and I follow him back towards the front door. “In the future, you should probably wait until you’re invited in to enter,” I say to his back. He doesn’t look back on his way to the car.

“Jesus, what an ass,” I say on my way back to the kitchen. “Why did he think we had Isaac here?” 

Scott opens the pantry. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised to see Isaac there, dripping wet and looking scared. “Hey,” he says. 

“You had thirty seconds, maybe,” I say. “How did you do that?” 

“I didn’t ask a lot of questions.” Scott shrugs, and he guides Isaac out of the pantry to sit at the table.

Isaac’s shaking, his whole body, and I don’t think it’s just because he’s cold. Scott gets him a towel before he asks him anything, and wraps it around his shoulders. Isaac flinches at even just that. There aren’t any bruises I can see, or blood or anything, but I don’t know if I’ve seen a person more scared. 

“So,” Scott finally says, sitting in the chair next to Isaac. 

“I can leave,” I say after a second. “If it’s easier to talk to one person.” 

Isaac twitches his shoulders up in shrug. “I don’t… he’s mad, he’s just… he’s mad. It’ll be better tomorrow.” 

“Why’s he mad?” I ask. 

“Because he’s mad.” 

“So you ran out of the house,” Scott asks, and Isaac nods once in confirmation. “Without shoes on.” He nods again. “And you came here and he followed you?” 

“Yeah. I’m sorry. I didn’t know where else to go.” 

“You did the right thing,” Scott says, firm again. I don’t know if I agree. I don’t know if it’s necessarily the _right_ thing to do to, to bring your violent dad to the house of your only friends. But I can see how it was the only thing for him to do. And I can understand stomach-twisting fear enough to know picking at him right now is the last thing he needs. 

“Why’s he mad?” I ask again. 

“Because.” Isaac scrubs his face off with the corner of his towel. “I just… because he’s mad. Because I broke a plate.” 

Scott looks away, scratching his nose. 

“You broke a plate?” I repeat. 

“Yeah,” Isaac says. “It kinda escalated. After that.” 

“Are you okay?” Scott asks. “Did he get to you?” 

“No, I ran.” Isaac hunches his shoulders and then dries off his hair with a little shiver. 

“Oh,” Scott says suddenly. “Do you want something to wear? You must be freezing. I’ve got something upstairs, hold on.” And he leaves. 

“I’m sorry,” Isaac says to me once Scott’s gone. “I shouldn’t have come here. I’m sorry, I’m… sorry.” I can’t see his face, but I’m pretty sure he’s crying. 

“Don’t be sorry.” I sit across from him. “Why’s he mad?” 

“Really, I just broke a plate. I’m…” 

I think he almost apologized to me for it, and my stomach kind of drops. “No, I get that. But I don’t think he chased you through the rain for a broken plate.” 

Isaac keeps his head down. “I don’t know. I don’t think it’s… I don’t know if it makes sense,” he finally admits. 

“It doesn’t. It doesn’t have to. You gonna sleep here?” 

“Can I?” 

“I don’t have a problem with it.” 

“Thank you.” He definitely is crying. I don’t know what to do. 

Scott does. He comes back and sees Isaac - and me awkwardly avoiding looking at Isaac - and he takes charge. “Are you okay?” he asks. 

“I’m fine, he didn’t touch me.” 

Scott glances up at me. We both know that’s not an answer to what he asked. “No, are _you_ okay?” he asks again. 

Isaac doesn’t answer. “I’m sorry,” he finally gets out. 

“Don’t, don’t be. C’mon, get changed.” He helps Isaac stand up, and then he hugs him. Scott can be sneaky like that, and it’s exactly what Isaac needs. Isaac hugs back. I wonder how long it’s been since he’s been hugged. “It’s okay,” Scott says. “We’ve got your back.”

“Thank you,” Isaac says. He goes to the bathroom to get changed. 

“Night to ourselves,” I say. “Sure.” 

Scott sighs and fixes me with a look that’s tired and apologetic all at once. “What do you want me to do?” he says. 

“Nothing, it’s just-“ 

Someone else knocks on the door. I look at Scott. “I’m not getting it this time.”

So he answers the door, and comes back with Allison. She looks upset. The night just keeps getting better. 

Allison talks about Scott’s stalker, says her dad is suspicious of him. Then that whole situation has to be explained to Isaac, while he tries to pretend he doesn’t want to cry. Then they all throw out ideas about why Mr. Argent doesn’t like Derek besides the obvious. 

I don’t care. That’s not interesting to me. I don’t listen. I keep thinking about Coach Lahey. His hands were in fists before he stepped inside. But I don’t think it was getting hit that had Isaac so scared. 

He sleeps here tonight, and I’m not even upset, which is shockingly out of character for me. I don’t care about tonight, because what matters is tomorrow. Tomorrow, when Isaac has to go back to his father’s house. 

Isaac, as it turns out, leaves before either of us are awake. 

“Thanks for everything. C u later,” Scott reads from his phone. 

“So calm.” I rub my eyes with the heels of my hands. “Wonder what he went back to.” 

“We’ll find out Monday.” 

No we won’t. I know we won’t. He won’t be there. 

 

 

We don’t see Isaac until Wednesday. He comes in late, during our gym class, and Coach puts him on the opposite team, so we don’t get to talk until after, in the locker room. 

“Where’ve you been?” Scott demands like, instantly.

“I can’t talk about it.” He looks haggard, which isn’t a word I’m used to using. Exhausted and desperate and worn out in a way I’ve barely seen my dad look, and he’s a police chief and fifty. 

“What do you need?” I ask quietly. 

“What?” 

Scott has caught on too. “What do you need, what can we do?” 

Isaac’s shoulders slump. “Nothing, just… or could you, um. Could… I don’t have lunch,” he finally gets out. 

“I can cover you, no problem,” Scott says immediately. 

There’s more to it. There is so much more to it, because Isaac was hospitalized for malnutrition. That single word keeps running through my head, watching him try not to eat like he’s starving and failing. His dad’s starving him. And that’s weird, that’s not just being someone that hits their kid. That’s psychotic. 

So when Scott gets up to throw away his food, I lean over the table and say it. “Malnutrition, huh? It’s making a lot more sense now.”

“Don’t.” 

“Don’t what, don’t think critically? Don’t try to figure out what’s happening?” 

“Yeah, don’t. Stop.” 

“Why?” 

He gets up and walks away, and I don’t think I’m supposed to follow him, I’m supposed to be too sarcastic and shitty and amoral, right? I still am all those things. And I also follow him. 

“You think you can just walk away from this?” I demand. 

“Yeah, if you’d leave me alone.” 

“That’s not gonna happen. Have I ever left a person alone when they wanted to be left alone? Just think about that request logically, and-“ 

He turns, and for a second he’s intimidatingly tall. But then he steps back and he looks normal again. “You have to leave it alone,” he says. 

“Why? Actually, y’know, let me play out this conversation from both sides for you, since you don’t seem to be too interested in playing along. I’ll say something like starvation is torture outlawed by the Geneva convention, and you’ll say he’s not torturing you, and then I could tell you about how you’re acting like a freakin’ prisoner of war. But I wouldn’t do that, because that’s only going to make you try to hide more shit. And that is painful to watch.” 

“Painful,” he repeats dubiously. He’s joking. 

“What are you?” I demand.

“Why do you want to know?” he says. “What would change?” 

“I don’t know. But I’m not keeping secrets for this guy, that’s for damn sure. And you shouldn’t either.” 

Isaac looks down. “I don’t think I have a choice anymore.” 

“Sure you do.” He’s not going to say anything. I can just tell. So I add, “You want something else to eat? Mr. Heston keeps quarters in his desk and I know how to pick a lock. But you’re going to have to be stealthy.” 

He smiles. “Okay.” 

 

 

“Camping.” 

“Scott.” 

“You said we never spend time alone, so we’re going to go camping.” 

“I said we never spend time alone and specifically said I did not want to go camping to right that wrong.” 

Scott’s smiling. “No, you basically asked me to take you camping.” 

“By the love of all that is holy.” I’m carrying a sleeping bag into the woods as it is, so I guess I don’t have a whole lot of room to continue arguing. I switch tactics. “Where’s Allison?” 

“She’s at home, she and Lydia are going to have a movie night. Her dad doesn’t want her out tonight, for some reason.” 

“So naturally, that’s night you’ve decided we’re going to camp.” 

“Yeah.” Scott’s altogether too cheerful. 

“Just wanted to be clear.” 

Scott sets up the tent while I set a fire. “Do what you’re good at,” he says in a tone I don’t appreciate. He’s also right, though, so I don’t argue. 

“Y’know, Scott, I don’t like your tone. I’m sure I’d be very good at building a tent. Constructing us a shelter. Just because I’ve set fires before-“

“If that’s the beginning of your sentence, then no matter what, I win the argument,” Scott’s saying. 

And that’s when he got bit by a werewolf. 

 

 

We didn’t know that at the time, but in retrospect it was pretty obvious, so mentally I tend to skip over the part where we got him a tetanus shot and then found out he was healing faster than usual, and then tried to figure out what was happening. I, of course, was the one who put the supernatural pieces together, as it were. 

Werewolf was not an obvious solve, but I got there. Heightened senses, the healing thing, a weird appetite, a bunch of other stuff too. I forget. The point is, he’s a werewolf. 

We’re in his room when we figure it out. “You’re kidding,” he says. 

“I am not kidding and you know it. And worse, you know it makes sense.”

“But if I’m a werewolf, that means there are other werewolves around, probably. Right? Since I got bitten.”

He’s starting to catch on to the whole greater implications problem with this scenario. “Yep. Looked back and saw Dad’s seen a couple reports of wolf activity and shit.” 

“They could bite other people.”

“Well, yeah, but that’s not exactly our biggest problem, Scott. We’ve got a week until you go full wolf, whatever that means.” 

Scott nods. “We need a plan for that.” 

“We need a plan for everything. Lucky for you, you’ve got me and I’ve got plans.” I wish I could flip to a page in a notebook authoritatively. I should start writing things down so I can refer to them. “First of all, we can’t tell anyone. Not even your mom.”

“She probably wouldn’t even believe me.” 

“I’d hope to God she wouldn’t. But you can’t tell her, Isaac, Allison, anybody. I feel like Allison’s dad would hate you even more if he knew you turned into a large carnivorous beast.” 

“He’d probably kill me,” Scott muses, then nods. “Yeah. Makes sense.” 

“Makes sense,” I snort. “Sure. Yeah. It’s my plan, Scott, of course it makes sense. Also, it _makes sense._ ”

“Right,” he says. “Why did you say that three times?” 

“Are we on the same page? About the not telling anyone thing?” 

Scott nods more firmly. “Yes. What about when I turn?” 

“I’ve got a plan for that too.” 

Mom knocks on the door and opens it. “Scott? Allison’s here.” 

“Oh thanks. I’ll be right down. Or she can come up.” 

“Do not tell her,” I whisper fiercely once his mom has left the room. 

“I won’t!” 

Allison knocks before coming in, because she’s adorable and polite. She’s impossible to hate, but I remain wary. “Hey,” she says, smiling at Scott. 

“Hi, how was your day since I saw you?” 

“A girl in my math class had an epileptic seizure,” she says. 

Scott raises his eyebrows. “Wow. Is she okay?” 

“Yeah. Do you know her? Some people were being rude about it.” 

“Erica,” Scott nods. “Mom knows her too.”

“She seems nice,” Allison says. 

“I think she is. Did you want to hang out, do some homework?” 

“Sure,” Allison says. “If Stiles doesn’t mind.” 

I mind slightly. “I don’t mind.”

“Cool.” Scott smiles. If he had it his way, all of his friends would be friends with each other and hang out, so this is close to ideal for him. And I hate to admit it, but it’s actually a pretty good time. 

 

 

 

Okay, so the plan is chaining him to a concrete pillar in his basement. It’s not the best. But it works. From the living room, I hear him roaring and thumping but he doesn’t break free. I’m glad his mom isn’t home though, It’s pretty loud for a while. I get a pretty solid amount of both of our homework done. 

It’s during a lull in the noise that Isaac walks in. “I thought I locked the door,” I frown. 

“Scott gave me a key.” He scratches his head awkwardly. “Where is he?” 

“Locked in the basement.” 

“What?” 

The tone of his voice makes me look up. He’s stock still, eyes-wide, which is weird. So much for telling the truth sarcastically. How do I end up terrifying him accidentally so often? 

“I’m kidding,” I say. 

“Really?” 

“Yeah.” 

“So where is he?” 

So this was officially a terrible idea. “Well, he actually is in the basement. Why do you look so pale? Sit down before you faint, I’m not catching your gangly ass when you go down.” 

Isaac sits on the couch. “Why’s Scott…” 

“In the basement?” I should stop saying that, every time he looks a little more green. “It’s hard to explain. Does your dad lock you in the basement?” 

“Explain,” Isaac says, voice rough. 

“Dude, you almost puke every time I say it, it’s not exactly a hard conclusion to draw. I’m not an idiot.”

“No, about… about Scott.” 

“Oh. Well, he’s having some… problems. So he asked me to lock him down there for a while. And yes, I know that sounds suspicious and no, I’m not gonna tell you what’s really going on. Okay? But you can stop freaking out, I’m not torturing Scott or anything like that. You know that.” 

Isaac nods after just a moment. “Yeah.” 

“Yeah. Alright. So chill.” 

Not a particularly sensitive way to handle him, but he nods again, and sinks back on the couch. “Is he on drugs?” he asks. 

“No. What kind of question is that? You know Scott, he’d never do drugs. His mom would kill him,” I snort, knee-jerk reaction. Immediately, I recognize it’d have been smarter to agree. 

Isaac seems to realize that too. “Will he be done soon?” 

“Dunno. Maybe when the sun rises. We aren’t sure. Why’d you come over?” 

“To do homework. Can I stay?” 

“If you don’t ask any questions. And if you answer mine.”

He looks a little panicked then, but he nods. I knew he would, he doesn’t want to go back. He only comes over when it’s bad, like he’s saving it. “Maybe,” he says. “No promises.” 

“No promises?” 

“Yeah.” He smiles a little. He has a black eye, so he winces too, but he’s smiling. I think he thinks we’re friends. “Is Scott gonna be okay?” 

“Yeah, he’ll be fine. Probably better than ever.” 

Isaac gets out his textbooks.

A few hours later, he gets up and gets us cans of Coke. I have a sneaking suspicion him asking me if I wanted anything is kind of a placeholder for asking if he’s allowed to get some, but Mom and Scott have been so aggressively hospitable that he ultimately goes through it. And I get a Coke out of the whole thing, so what do I care. 

“Were you planning on staying the night?” I ask around then. 

“Um, well, not with Scott… I mean.” 

“Mom’s working overnight, so she won’t be back. And while I can’t go ask him, I’m like three hundred percent sure Scott would be fine with it. So.” 

“Okay.” 

I look up at him. He’s got his eyes on his book. “Your dad’s mad?” 

“Not at me. But… yeah.” 

“Scared he’s gonna lock you in the basement?” I say, to judge his reaction. 

He goes pale, swallows hard and stops writing. “I didn’t… I mean…” 

“You didn’t tell me, I guessed. And I’m not going to do anything. But the pieces aren’t hard to put together. Are they? Your dad-“

“I don’t want to talk about it.” 

“I didn’t ask if you wanted to talk about it.” 

“Well, I’m not going to.” 

I can’t believe this kid. Where does he get this confidence from? I guess from us, being friends with us, but still. What the hell. “Fine,” I say after a second. “Whatever.” 

Beneath us, Scott kind of screams. Isaac shudders. “He’s okay?” he says.

“I think so. There aren’t any real nonfictional guides to this, but it’s always survivable. Barring a silver bullet scenario.”

“Werewolves?” Isaac frowns, looking up. 

“Shit.” Me and my damn big mouth. Honestly. 

“Seriously, werewolves? Scott’s a werewolf? Since when?” Isaac demands, shutting his textbook. 

“I was kidding,” I try. 

“No you weren’t. You’re serious. Which is weird.” 

Since when did he get so fucking insightful? “You think I’m being serious about Scott being a werewolf, really?”

“Yeah. You totally are. Oh my God. Did he get bit at the shelter or something?” 

I shake my head. “Camping.” 

“Wow.” 

“And we aren’t telling anyone. So you’d better keep your mouth shut.” 

“Sure.” 

“I mean it.” 

“You’ve been trying to find out about my dad for months. What have I told you?” 

Sarcastic, this one. “Good point.”

“Maybe hold off on the silver bullet jokes, though, if you don’t want people to know,” he says next, a smile pulling at his mouth. 

I’m about ready to take back every single moment of concern I’ve ever had for him. “Thanks for that 20/20 hindsight, asshole,” I say. 

“What kind of powers does he have?” Isaac asks. “Just the wolf thing?” 

“Well, we don’t even know if it’s a wolf thing,” I say after a second, because if I’m going to trust him than I might as well go all the way. “But super senses, accelerated healing, some fun eye color nonsense. We aren’t really sure yet. He’s gotten stronger and taller too.” 

“I thought something was different.” 

“Sure you did.” 

“I did!” 

“Sure you did,” I repeat firmly. “And also, since I have confided in you, you’re pretty much obligated-“

“You screwed up. I’m not obligated to do anything.” 

I tilt my head and narrow my eyes at him. “Y’know I’m really not cool with this new vibe you’ve got going on. The whole sarcastic thing is mine. And I’d appreciate if you stopped infringing on it.” 

Isaac smiles. “I’m telling the truth,” he protests. “I’m not being sarcastic at all, I’m being honest.” 

“Then it’s shocking how similar the two of those can sound.” And _that_ was sarcasm. 

He doesn’t answer besides continuing to smile and writing something down. We both fall silent for a while. I do appreciate how he actually does homework. Scott’s got a lot of virtues. Studiousness isn’t one of them. 

“If you want something to eat, you can help yourself to the kitchen,” I say. 

“Should I leave money, or something?” 

“Money? Why? No. How would you have money?” 

Isaac looks at me like I’m stupid. “My job.”

“Oh right. Digging graves. I thought that was just punishment for crimes.” 

“Nope. It’s a job. And I dunno. Money for the food. I don’t just want to take it, I mean.” 

“I’ve never paid them in my life. Scott eventually eats at my house, it’s not a big deal.” 

“Yeah, we’ll you’re never going to eat at my house,” Isaac mumbles. 

“I was wondering how that whole thing worked,” I say, looking down. He does a lot better when I don’t stare him down. In fact most people do. “Does he hate your friends, or does he pretend everything’s alright?” 

I feel him look up at me, and then he answers. “Well. He doesn’t like me having friends, really. So I don’t know. But I guess in the beginning, he was… polite. He doesn’t want anybody to find out, so.” 

“So he pretends to be nice?”

“Well. Sometimes. But it won’t stop him from… I mean I stopped having people over after he freaked out when my friend was over. So.” 

I can sense his talkativeness coming to an end, but I keep trying. “Freaked out as in beat you? Or-“

“I don’t think it matters. And just because you ask me invasive questions doesn’t mean I’m obligated to answer you.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah, really. How do you like it if I do it? Why do you call Mrs. McCall Mom?” 

He’s right. I don’t like it. “That’s a heaping helping of none of your business.”

“Right. That’s my point.” Isaac opens his textbook to go back to his homework, or at least to pretend like he’s doing it. He’s not actually doing it. 

I don’t like him making points even more. So I push. “Yeah, but I’m not the one who has to be here. So, you want to tell me why your dad hits you, throws shit at you, _and_ locks you in the basement?”

“What do you mean, why?” he mumbles.

“I mean what’s his reason? They always have a reason, right? Some kind of self-rationalization that makes them think they’re right. Abusers never think they’re out of line.” 

Isaac’s still again. “I don’t…” He digs his knuckles in his eye. “He doesn’t… say anything. Like that.” 

I think he’s lying. I think his dad does have a reason, and he’s drilled it into Isaac’s head so often and so strongly that it’s what’s keeping Isaac from telling us anything now. I feel it, and I feel bad for him, really.

“Look, Lahey. You don’t have to talk about it, especially to me. I know I’ve been… a dick. I’m pretty frequently a dick, really, it comes with the sarcastic territory, and I’m not apologizing in any way for that. But. I can understand how my… conversational style can be offsetting for emotional intimacy. So. You can talk to Scott, who’s way more trustworthy and Steve Rogers-y, but even if you don’t want to do that, you have to start thinking about it differently. You have to start to call it abuse to yourself. That’s not what your dad’s supposed to do to you. And whatever his reason is, it’s bullshit.” 

Isaac meets my eyes. There’s doubt in his. “You don’t know.”

“I do, though. I know a lot of things. And while I don’t seem like it, I am very good at reading people.” When I want to be. 

“It’s not as easy as you’re making it sound, though.”

“I didn’t make it sound easy,” I say. “But I made it sound logical.” 

Isaac shuts his book again, heavily. He’s a person who’s been beaten and worse for five years. It’s probably not right to push him like this. It’s not nice, Scott wouldn’t want me to. Mom wouldn’t want me to. Isaac’s a good kid. Or he’s trying to be one. “How do you know?” he asks. “Did your parents…”

“No. No, my dad’s great. My mom was great too, but she died when I was little. And Scott’s mom is great. But you aren’t the only kid in the city with a dad like yours, though. Or maybe not exactly like yours, but y’know.”

“My mom died too. You know that, right? Probably in my file.” 

“Yeah. Your dad kill her?” 

Isaac shakes his head. “Car accident.” 

“Cancer.” 

He doesn’t try to apologize, thank God. “He was just controlling. He just… like, after Mom died, he didn’t want me to go anywhere either. So. That made sense. But.” 

“Then he started hitting you.”

“Yeah. I guess.” 

“And that made less sense.” 

Isaac just kinda shrugs. And after a second, I look down and finish filling in the blank I’d paused on. I don’t need to know all of this, and I don’t have to make him tell me. 

“Scott’s gonna be a while. You can go sleep whenever you want,” I say. 

“I’m fine.” 

“You don’t have to stay up, though.” 

“I know. But I don’t want to leave you guys. Especially after you screwed up and told me what’s going on.” 

I sigh very deeply. It’s proving hard to be nice to him. “Y’know, it’d be great if you’d stop bringing it up like that,” I say. 

“Well, you’re the one that brought it up in the first place.” 

“Y’know what you’re doing?” 

He nods. He’s not smiling. And that’s when it occurs to me that the whole pushy honesty thing is on purpose, to see what we’ll put up with. 

“Alright, idiot,” I say. “As long as you know.” 

 

 

Scott’s exhausted when he gets up the next morning, but he’s still Scott. I tell him, “I may or may not have accidentally told Isaac about your furry problem.” 

And he smiles and says, “Well, at least we know he can keep a secret.”

Isaac’s waiting at the top of the steps because the basement terrifies him. He relaxes when he sees Scott. “Are you okay?” he asks. 

“Fine,” Scott says. “Tired. Let’s go to school, woo.” He shakes out his arms and cracks his neck. “How are you?” he asks Isaac. “Did something go wrong last night?” 

“No. I’m fine.” Isaac looks Scott up and down closely. “Werewolf?” 

“Guess so. I hope Allison isn’t secretly seeing a vampire, like a Twilight thing.” He smiles, amused at himself. 

“Y’know, you’re remarkably cheerful for a guy that was howling all night. Literally.” I give him his bookbag. “We’ll grab breakfast on the way.” 

“Great, I’m starving. And yeah, I’m cheerful. There are some benefits. I can keep my mom safe, I can keep you safe. I have claws.” Scott shrugs. “And if I ever run into hard times, I can spend my life as a circus sideshow.” 

“Oh my God.” 

We’re walking out as Mom comes in. “Hey kids,” she says, obviously exhausted but still as cheerful as Scott. “Have a good day.” 

“Thanks Mom.” Scott hugs her, and then she hugs me too, and offers a hug to Isaac, who takes it as timidly as a tall guy can accept a hug from a tiny woman. 

“Don’t like hugs?” I say when we’re getting in the car. 

Isaac gives me a dirty look, but that’s it. 

We’re waiting at the drive-through window when that freakin’ stalker shows up outside Scott’s window. “What were you doing last night?” he asks. 

“Scott,” I say warningly.

“Get out of here, Derek,” Scott says. 

“You’ll be stronger with me.” 

We get our food then, so I miss what Derek says next and as soon as we have the food, I slam on the gas. 

“Wait,” Isaac says while I make a way-too-sharp right turn. “Derek’s a werewolf, too?” 

“What?” I frown at Isaac and then at Scott. “Scott?” I repeat, when Scott refuses to meet my eyes, handing Isaac food as an excuse.

“Well, yeah,” he says through a mouthful. “The night after I got bitten, he came around to talk about it. I was going to tell you! It just didn’t matter, I’m not joining his pack, or whatever.” 

“His pack?” I repeat.

“Yeah, he keeps talking about… I dunno, strength in numbers. He didn’t give me the bite,” Scott adds quickly. He fills his mouth again and continues. “I asked him that first. But he’s planning on building a pack, so I guess he thought I could be part of that somehow.” 

“He’s gonna make more werewolves?” I demand. “The creepy stalker who’s been following you, he’s going to create new wolves and let them run around Beacon Hills?” 

“I don’t know, I didn’t ask for his plans.” 

“Well, you should’ve.” 

“Next time he shows up, I will.” 

Next time. Seriously, this guy is a stalker. “I’m going to kick his ass,” I say. “He and his beard can’t intimidate me.” 

“Really?” Isaac pipes up. 

“Shut up, ya freakin’ giant.” I check in the rearview mirror after a second. He’s smiling and eating. No accidental terror this time. 

I’m parking when Scott hits my arm. “Hey.” 

I hit him back. “Stop it, I’m driving.” 

“You’re parking, that’s hardly-“ 

“Parking is still driving!” 

“Not really, that’s why it has a different name.” 

From outside, I hear, “Get out of the car.” And my stomach drops, because we got distracted and Scott was trying to tell me that Isaac’s dad is here. 

“Don’t move,” I tell Isaac, and I hit the locks. Then I get out, and Scott gets out. Scott was a wolf last night. We’ll be fine.

“Are you deaf?” Coach Lahey says to Isaac through the window. “Get out.” And as I jog around the front of the car, I can see Isaac through the window, hunched in small. “Open the door!” his father screams, and Isaac doesn’t.

“Hey, back off,” Scott says. “You don’t have to yell.” 

I don’t know where I should be. He’s got Coach Lahey handled, and Isaac’s safe. I feel weirdly extra, like some kind of bystander. I watch Isaac’s dad evaluate Scott and decide to back down. 

“I’d like to talk to my son,” Coach Lahey says. 

Isaac speaks up then, unlocks his door and opens it. “Okay,” he says. “It’s fine.” He looks at Scott and then at me. “Really.” 

Scott clenches his jaw, but he doesn’t argue. “Fine.”

But I argue. Of course I argue, what the fuck. “Um, not fine. Isaac told me I could copy his math homework and if I don’t do that then I’ll fail this semester.” I do my best to sound deferential then. “C’mon, please? My dad’ll kill me if I fail.” 

It’s a legit enough reason, just like I counted on. Coach Lahey knows it’d be odd for him to insist now, so he backs down. He doesn’t say anything, he just turns and stalks away and Scott calls after him. “Have a nice day.” 

Isaac’s quietly hyperventilating in his seat, like really quiet and still, so that we don’t exactly notice at first. Scott notices, and he tells me. “Stiles, he’s having a panic attack.”

Another fun area of specialty for me. I open the car door all the way and try not to crowd him. “Isaac. You’ve gotta breathe, okay? Your dad isn’t here, he left. Count to ten between every breath, and-“

“I’m fine,” he cuts me off. 

“You aren’t, though.” 

Isaac gets out of the car, pushing past me and taking desperately deep breaths of fresh air. Then he looks between us for half a second before going to Scott for a hug. Good choice. “Thanks,” he says, and then he almost falls. Still hyperventilating. 

“Sit down, idiot,” I say, and he’s a lot taller than me but it’s not hard to sit him down on the ground. I squat next to him. “Stay here for a second, start breathing. Okay?” 

“Okay.” His voice is tiny. “I’m sorry.” 

“Sorry for what? You’re fine. This stuff happens.” 

“It did to Stiles all the time when we were younger,” Scott volunteers. 

I turn and glare at him; that’s not information I wanted to share. True, though. “It did?” Isaac asks. 

“Yeah. After my mom died. Not a big deal. Breathe.”

He does. And after he’s less ghostly, I help him up. “We can come home with you tonight,” I tell him, handing him his bookbag. 

“No.” 

“Seriously?” 

“You can’t,” he says. “He’ll get angrier. And he’ll hate you guys, he won’t let me hang out with you.” His breathing is picking up again. 

“Chill out,” I say firmly. “We won’t come over if you don’t want. It was just an idea. Okay? Breathe.” 

“Stop telling me to breathe.” 

“Try doing it and then we’ll talk.” 

Scott speaks up after a second, watching Isaac’s face closely. “Can we do anything to help?” 

Isaac shakes his head. 

“Your dad gonna lock you in your basement again?” I ask on a hunch. 

“What?” Scott says. 

“I don’t know.” Isaac’s voice cracks. “I don’t know what you mean. Thanks. I’ll see you later.” 

Scott looks at me after Isaac’s out of earshot. “Are you serious?”

I have to nod. “Yeah. Found that out last night too. He freaked when I joked about you in the basement, and he hasn’t denied it. So. It’s pretty much solid fact. And he’s been in the hospital because his dad starves him.” 

I watch my best friend turn downright murderous. “What kind of person… what kind of _parent_ does that to their kid?” he says, barely keeping his voice down. “How can that happen?” 

“I don’t know. But we can’t stop it without doing what Isaac doesn’t want us to do. So.” 

Some of the rage leaves Scott’s eyes. “Yeah,” he says. “Okay. Well, he’ll come over after, right? He knows he can.” 

“He knows he can, but we should probably double check.” 

He nods, and then he observes, “You’re being serious.” 

“Yeah, well while I wasn’t looking this situation go pretty serious. So.” 

Scott nods again. “I’ll ask him in math class.” 

But Isaac’s not there in math class, and two white lies and an illicit print job later, we find out he and his dad went home. And there’s this deep, deep pit in the bottom of my stomach. This is bad. This is really, really bad. 

“I think we should tell Allison,” Scott says in the lunch line. “I want to talk to her about it, I think she has good ideas.” 

“Okay. Well, go ahead with that complete betrayal of trust if you want to.” 

“Really?” 

“No! McCall, really no.” 

“You don’t think she’d have good ideas?” 

“I’m sure she would,” I admit begrudgingly. “She’s very smart and surprisingly wily for a girl who looks so girl-next-door-ish. Also you have a giant puppy crush on her so I get it but like. Isaac doesn’t want us to tell people. It’s not safe to.” 

Scott holds up one finger. “First of all, since when do you care what Isaac wants? And second of all-“ Up comes the second finger. “-no puppy jokes, I don’t want to have to explain that. And third, what if she guesses?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, what if we talk vaguely about it and she happens to connect a few dots?” Scott carries his apple in his mouth on his way to the table. The puppy joke is extremely hard to pass up. I persevere. 

“I’ll think about it,” I’m saying, when the hottest girl I’ve ever seen sits down opposite us. Literally, this girl looks like a porn star. Blonde hair, the whole makeup thing, a low cut shirt that makes her boobs look amazing, and I don’t even know how to describe her body other than wow. “Uhhhhh…” I begin. My brain is glitching. 

“Hello,” Scott begins respectfully. 

“It’s me. Erica,” she says flatly. 

“Epilepsy,” I say without thinking. 

She fixes me with an unamused look. “Well, not anymore.” 

Scott frowns and leans closer to whisper, “Did Derek give you the bite?” 

“He sure did. And you should reconsider rejecting the pack.” 

Allison sits down next to Erica then. She doesn’t usually sit with us at lunch, but I think she’s jealous. Amazing. It’s like she doesn’t know Scott at all; he’d never cheat in six billion years. “Hi, Erica,” she says. “You look great.” 

“Thanks.” She adjusts her hair a little self-consciously. When I manage to tear my eyes away from her rack, I notice that she’s not at all confident with Allison. “I can make it up that climbing wall in six seconds flat,” she says. 

“That’s so cool.” Allison’s the only person in the world who can sound as genuine as Scott. “That’s great, did you find a new medication or something?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Congratulations, really. Where’d you get that jacket?” 

Erica’s caught off-guard by her own smile. “It’s my dad’s. He was a small guy, I’m a tall girl.” 

“It looks great on you.” Allison looks over at Scott. “What did you want to talk to me about?” 

“Nothing,” I say firmly. “No conversational topic.” Scott nods stiffly, but he doesn’t mean it and that’s making me anxious as hell.

“Oooookay… where’s your friend?” Allison asks. “The tall kid.” 

“He went home sick,” I lie before my idiot best friend can tell the truth.

“Isaac?” Erica says sharply. And I can just tell, she knows.

“Hey, Erica, would you come with me for a second?” I stand. After a second, she does too, and follows me out to the hallway. She’s honestly extremely tall, and extremely hot. It’s not fair. 

“No offense, Stiles, but if you’re going to ask me out you might want to try meeting my eyes while you do it,” she says, amused. 

“I was looking at your eyes.” I was not. “But I’m not asking you out. I tend not to set myself up for failure. What do you know about Isaac.”

Erica frowns, then blinks twice before her face settles into blankness. “What do _you_ know about Isaac?” she says.

“I asked first. Did you know him before his mom died?” 

“Yeah,” she says after a long second of consideration. “I did.” 

“Okay. And why’d you stop being friends?”  

She evaluates me. “Sounds like you know why,” she finally says. “Why’d he go home today?” 

“Because his dad’s pissed and he won’t let us do anything about it. And I’m only saying that because I’m assuming we both know. And by the time we get back, Allison will also probably know.” 

“That shit’s for real,” Erica says. “You can’t play with his life.” 

“I know. We aren’t screwing around.” 

She nods, and then she says, “I’m really proud of you, eye contact for that whole conversation.” And she walks away. She also has a great ass.

“I do what I can,” I say to myself, and I follow. 

Scott didn’t tell Allison, and he doesn’t. He’s the most trustworthy person I know, of course he didn’t. But I do think it might’ve been nice to have another perspective on this fucked up mess. 

 

 

 

It’s Allison and Scott’s date night, and I’m allowed to be there. This is monumental. I’m not exactly sure about the machinations behind the scenes that led to this, but I’m on my best behavior. Scott wants us to be friends. So I didn’t insist on sitting with the couch with Scott, and I don’t make barfing sounds when they kiss each other. It’s progress. 

“What’s the deal with Erica, do you think?” Allison finally murmurs. 

“What do you mean?” Scott says. 

“I mean she got some kind of extreme makeover and new meds, right? Do you know what happened?” Allison says. “Because epilepsy isn’t possible to cure. But she’s completely better.” 

“Yeah, I don’t know,” Scott says. 

“Maybe she’s a vampire,” I suggest. 

Scott shoots me a panicked glare, and I return his look in a mocking way. Nobody believes in vampires. But when Allison snorts, she doesn’t sound as humored as she should. Did I fuck up again? Shit. So I keep talking.

“A Twilight scenario. I bet she has a half vampire baby hopping around somewhere, named something dumb like-“

There’s a knock on the door, and before any of us can get up, Isaac barrels into the room. He has a cut on his cheek, a black eye, and a his hand is dripping blood, and when he registers Allison he gets more panicked. “I…” he begins. 

Scott doesn’t move. Pretty sure I don’t move either. Literally no idea what to do. But then Allison, gorgeous, smart and capable Allison who I never should’ve doubted even mentally, says, “I have a first aid kit in my purse.”

Isaac just crumbles. He sprawls on the ground because his legs won’t hold him up anymore, and he’s so, so defeated. I do a quick mental count; he’s been with his dad for five days, probably locked up. He’s never run to us like this afterwards. I’m fucking worried. 

“Hey,” I say. “What’d he do?” 

Isaac just shakes his head a little. He’s so pale. Scott sees that too, probably catches something else with his senses because he gets up. “What do you want to eat?” he asks, then rephrases. “We have lasagna, or I could make you a grilled cheese.” He doesn’t get an answer, but Scott goes anyways. 

Allison gets her purse open and pulls out a travel-size first aid kit. She wasn’t joking. She holds it in one hand and then goes over to Isaac. I don’t know why I can tell that she’s keeping herself in check, but she is. She’s doing her best to be non-threatening - which, she’s nice but she’s a little threatening. 

“Hey,” she says to get his attention, and then she sits down in front of him. “Hi. I don’t know if we’ve been introduced. I’m Scott’s girlfriend. Allison.” She manages to get a nod out of him at that. “I know you’re Isaac. Can I see your hand?” 

He doesn’t react. If it were me, I’d just grab his hand. He wouldn’t like that. Allison can do way better. She takes his hand very slowly, linking her finger with two of his and bringing his hand up for her to see. Isaac doesn’t fight. His hand is shaking. “It’s alright,” she says. “I’ve done this before.” She pauses, to let him ask but when he doesn’t she still continues. “My dad’s big on self-defense,” she says. “So I’ve bruised up my knuckles a bunch of times. Punched something?” 

“Window,” Isaac mumbles. 

“Well, that wasn’t too smart.” She sounds really gentle. He doesn’t even flinch. “It’s okay, though. Dad’s always training me for these crisis scenarios, this is the first time I’ve actually gotten to use anything. And look, Stiles isn’t teasing you. Special occasion.”

“Don’t count on that lasting,” I say. I realize I’ve been quiet for a long time. 

Isaac draws a shaky breath in and finally talks. “Sorry, I didn’t know who’d be over here,” he says in a tiny voice. 

“It’s okay,” Scott says from the kitchen. “I’m glad you came.” 

“We were just doing that dumb Sophocles assignment anyways,” Allison says conspiratorially. “Which Scott is having trouble pronouncing.” 

Isaac looks at me for just a glance, and I take the prompt. “Yeah, whatever. What happened?” 

He answers after swallowing hard and looking at Allison another time. “Can I stay tonight?” he asks.

“Of course,“ Allison says. 

“If you think I’d let you go anywhere like this, you’re crazy,” Scott says, coming back with some lasagna and a Sprite. “Here. Have you eaten today?” 

Isaac shakes his head. “Not for… since breakfast at your house Tuesday.” He probably collapsed half out of hunger, shit. 

“Jesus,” Allison says accidentally. 

Scott follows her lead and sits cross-legged next to her and Isaac on the floor. He puts the plate on the ground near Isaac, and watches Allison keep fixing gauze on Isaac’s knuckles. I’m watching too, and I’m connecting some dots. 

“You punched a window,” I say. “Basement window?” 

Isaac shakes his head. “Accident, it wasn’t on purpose.”

“Got into a fight when he let you out?”

He shakes his head again, glances at Allison. That’s pretty clear - he doesn’t know if he can trust her. Allison catches that too. “I can go,” she says. “Just let me finish this and I’ll go.” 

Scott doesn’t want her to go, but I watch him swallow down his objections. Isaac’s coming first tonight - we all get it without having to talk about it.

“Don’t go,” Isaac says after a second, voice going up at the end. “It’s… it’s fine. But can you… not tell anyone?” 

“Yeah, of course not.” Allison keeps holding his hand, in such a motherly way that I get why Scott isn’t jealous. Besides the fact that he’s a freakin’ angel. “I won’t say anything,” she repeats. 

Isaac nods, and then looks at me. “You can. Um. You can tell her?” 

It’s probably too hard to say it himself. “Yeah,” I say. Fuck, I have to clear my throat. “His dad’s abusive.” Should I go into more detail? I decide not to. 

Allison doesn’t say anything, but she covers his hand in hers with her other hand. It’s weird, actually, how quiet she is, so I look at her face. She’s furious. “If you ever want him dead,” she finally says. “I’ll do it.” 

Isaac nods. He’s still disheveled and scared, but he’s not terrified, not anymore. He’s settling down. “I’m fine,” he says. 

“Eat,” Scott orders.              

“Okay.” Isaac eats. He’s starving, and if how he looks is enough to make me pity him then Scott and Allison are lost causes. They’re probably about ready to adopt him. I almost wish they would. 

“Why’d you run this time?” I ask him. “Usually you wait for Monday.” 

Isaac won’t make eye contact with anyone. “I couldn’t wait,” he said. “I’m… it’s always been bad. Too much for me to… I dunno. Handle? But recently I just can’t handle it.” 

“You don’t have to,” Scott says. “If you need somewhere to live, we can talk about that. You don’t have to stay with him.” 

“If I try to leave, he’ll kill me.” 

“I’ll kill him,” Allison says flatly, and Scott nods. 

Isaac bows his head again, and just sits like this. He’s shutting down, he’s been through too much tonight. Even Allison and Scott - or maybe especially them - are too much for him to handle. 

“Okay,” I say. “Isaac, c’mon. Let’s get you something else to wear and leave these gross lovebirds to their own devices.” I get up and pull him up by the hand, doing my hardest to ignore how his hand shakes in mine. 

“You really don’t have to go,” Scott says behind us. I hear Allison hit him, and I see Isaac twitch. 

“It’s fine, I know where I’m not wanted," I say, and herd Isaac up the stairs to Scott’s room. “Pick whatever you want,” I say. “And I’ll wait outside if you-“

Isaac pulls his shirt off before I finish talking. He’s too thin. And he’s got bruises on his ribs, which he knew I would look at because he says abruptly, “I fell, on the way down, and he kicked me.” 

“Why?” That’s too loaded of a question, I shouldn’t have asked him that. I’m about to rephrase when he answers. 

“Because I screwed up and fell.” He opens Scott’s drawer and pulls on one of Scott’s sweatshirts. The sleeves are too short but it fits okay. He’s got a few pairs of his own pants over here, though, because he’s too tall for Scott’s. In hindsight it’s probably a miracle how tall he is with how little he’s eaten. “That’s the reason,” Isaac adds then. 

“What do you mean?” 

“You said he’s got a reason.” 

“Oh. Right.” 

“I keep fucking up. I can’t do anything right, and so he’s trying. He’s trying to like. Fix me.” Isaac won’t meet my eyes again, and he changes his pants. There are bruises on his legs too, on his feet. 

“Okay.” 

He crosses his arms. I can see one of his fingers picking at the cuff. “You aren’t going to like, argue with me. About how wrong he is?” 

“Do you want an argument right now?”

He bites his lip, feet turning inwards, toward each other. “I, um… no, but.” 

I think he needs the reassurance. Shit, I think he’s counting on me to make him feel like he’s worth something. I hope I’m up to it. “He’s wrong. Your dad’s absolutely wrong. Alright?”

“Okay.” 

“Do you need more bandaids or anything?” 

Isaac shakes his head. “Just bruises.” 

“Okay. Sit down. On the bed,” I add, when he starts to just sit where he is. “C’mon, dork. How do you feel about Super Mario Bros?” 

“Fine?” 

I turn on Scott’s TV and hand Isaac a controller. “Good. Scott’s got the biggest hard-on for the freaking karts, which, they’re fine but this is better. I will be way better than you, but that doesn’t mean we can’t have fun.” 

His hands are still shaking. I glance over and see that there’s blood under his fingernails. “What happened there?” I ask, pointing at his fingers. 

“Oh, um. It’s not…” He picks at his thumbnail with his index finger for a second, and then puts the controller down. “There’s a box. An old freezer, my mom used to… keep food in. Or whatever.”

Swear to God I can hear the words catch in his throat. So I finish for him, or I try to. “He put you in there?”

Isaac nods once, holding himself very still. “Yeah,” he says softly.

“Okay. Are you still bleeding?” 

“No,” he shakes his head. “I’m fine. Or…” 

“Yeah, I get it. Have you ever played this before?” 

“No.” 

“Alright. You’re Luigi. Follow my lead.”

I really don’t have any ulterior motives besides playing this game and getting his head out of wherever it is. Video games are great for that kind of thing. But after ten minutes or so of playing, he starts talking. Or actually asking me questions, more accurately.

“Why did you make me come up here? Did Scott want you to?” 

“No, you wanted me to.” I don’t take my eyes off the screen. I’m not about to let us lose. 

He’s silent for a bit. "You could tell?” he finally say. 

“Yeah, I could tell. If Scott was paying attention, he would’ve too, but Allison kinda threw him. And he’s got this instinct to protect anything with two legs. Or four legs. Or really anything from one to four.” Legs aren’t relevant to this, I remind myself. 

“Oh.” Isaac glances over at me, I can feel his eyes on me. “I like them.” 

“Sure you like them. Everyone likes them, they’re practically saints. But that doesn’t mean that they can’t get on your nerves. Or not on your nerves, really, but like. Under your skin. Scott’s not super great at leaving people alone. And you wanted to be left alone, you were bracing yourself every time they moved.” 

“You could tell that?” 

“You already asked me that question and the first time I answered you, but this time I’m going to tell you that rhetorical questions are a weak conversational tactic.” 

“No, like.” Isaac shifts a little. “You were looking? I guess that’s…” 

“Yeah, I was looking. Friends tend to look. And don’t make this a moment or anything. We’ve been friends for a while now. Smash that guy.” 

He does, and when he has a second, he runs his hand through his hair. “Why do you call Mrs. McCall Mom?” he asks. 

And I don’t know why I’m not fucking annoyed with him. I mean I am, obviously I am, but not as much as I should be. And I want to tell him, out of this weird sense of reciprocity. I know so much about him, why shouldn’t I tell him something that’s pretty much useless. 

I pause the game, but I don’t look at him. “My mom died when I was eight. A few months after I met Scott. And his mom’s always been exactly like this, just… kind. And while my dad was working through the grief or whatever, I stayed at Scott’s. His mom treated us just the same. So. I imprinted on her like a baby duck. Or whatever.” 

“Does she know?” 

“Yeah, I’ve fucked up in front of her before. She doesn’t mind. But just… don’t tell Scott. I’m sure he knows, but I don’t want to make it weird.” I look over at him then. Isaac meets my eyes. It’s pretty ridiculous how he manages to look so exactly like a beaten puppy. I guess that’s what he is, though. 

“I won’t tell him,” he says. 

“Cool. How do you know Erica?” 

“Reyes?” 

“Sure. Formerly with epilepsy, that’s all I know.” 

“Formerly?” 

“Answer the question.” 

I think he trusts me, fuck everything. I don’t really enjoy being seen as trustworthy. But he nods, and he’s not nervous, just amused. “We were friends. Before everything. And then I kind of… pushed her away, I guess.” 

“She knows about your dad.” 

“Yeah.” 

“She was worried about you, when she found out your dad took you home.”

Isaac nods once. “What do you mean, formerly?” 

“Oh. Derek bit her, she’s a werewolf now. Healed all of her stuff, made her ridiculously hot. Not that that’s a good reason to be a werewolf, I imagine the epilepsy was more concerning, but I understand the rationale well enough.” 

“Wait. Derek the stalker?” 

“Yeah. He’s building a pack, biting whatever teenager who apparently wants it. But it’s kinda alarming though, because she got a lot hotter. The implications there are staggering. First of all, how’d she get hotter and why? And if werewolves evolved to be pretty, then why didn’t Scott change in hotness? Was Scott already at maximum hotness? And did Derek at some point look worse than he currently does?” 

Isaac snorts, and I think I see the first genuine smile I’ve ever gotten outta him. “Those are all really good questions,” he agrees. 

“I know they are, they’re legitimate concerns. But Scott just rolls his eyes and says I should chill out. Y’know, there’s a more concerning possibility, which is that Erica looked that good all the time but with makeup magic or something she made everybody notice it.” 

“She’s always been pretty.” 

“Huh. Well. You should reach out.” 

“Reach out?” 

“Yeah.” 

He looks thoughtful and nods a couple times. “Could…” He picks his nail some more. “Could I get something else to eat?” 

“Yeah, what do you want?” 

“Anything.” 

“Okay. C’mon.” 

Scott and Allison are cuddling and watching a movie. “Everything alright?” Allison asks. 

“Fine. Food.” 

They settle back in together, and I turn on the kitchen light for Isaac. I almost expect him to flinch at even that. He stands there like an idiot while I gather things from shelves. Chips and dip, carrots, Doritos, cold mac and cheese, and several cans of soda. 

“Put your stupidly long arms to use,” I tell him, and he takes the food from me. “Anything else?” 

“No.” 

“This is all coming upstairs, c’mon.” 

Isaac smiles, and he follows me back up. “I won’t eat all of this,” he says. 

“You might,” I say. “And that’s fine.” 

We eat in Scott’s bed, leaning against his pillow. It’s not like he’ll notice a few extra crumbs in bed.

“You ever thought about moving out?” I ask him eventually. 

“No.” 

“I bet Scott would let you live here. Or there are places you can go, where someone won’t be hitting you when you’re down. Literally.” 

“I have a place to go,” he says. “I’m here.” 

“Yeah like fifteen percent of the time. I’m talking about all the time.” 

He just shrugs. “Haven’t thought about it. No.” 

 

 

 

Mr. Argent won’t let Allison stay the night, but she comes back the next morning before we’re awake. Which, I don’t really see the issue with whether or not she sleeps on the couch or in her bed - Scott wouldn’t like, take advantage of her - but I’m not about to argue the point to a man with hundreds of guns. 

Scott would sleep forever if possible, and Isaac’s exhausted, so I’m up before them. Mom’s door is closed when I pass it in the hall - she’s back and asleep too. Allison’s in the kitchen, making french toast. “Hey,” she says. 

“Hi. You’re back.” 

“I am. Don’t have a whole lot to do on a Sunday morning.” 

I kind of grunt in return, and get orange juice from the fridge. I’m in the process of drinking it when she adds, “How’s Isaac?” She’s trying to sound extremely casual and failing big time. 

“Oh my God!” I say as soon as I’ve swallowed. “Really?”

“What? I’m… concerned,” she says innocently.

“We’re all concerned,” I say, and take another drink. “He’s concerning. Only you came back to make him breakfast.”

Allison hesitates before saying what she wants to. “Does he need somewhere to stay?” she finally asks. “Like. My dad’s strict, but if he heard about this situation, he’d let Isaac stay with us.” 

“I don’t know. He doesn’t want to talk about it. Maybe-“

Someone knocks on the door. “You expecting someone?” I ask Allison. 

She shakes her head. Frowning, I go to open the door. I only get it half open when I see that it’s Isaac’s dad, and shut it again. He slams his foot in between the door and the doorjamb to keep it open, and he says, “Is my son here?” He doesn’t sound quite so murderous, which I guess is an improvement. Except you don’t have to sound murderous to hurt your kid. 

“None of your damn business,” I say. “Go away.” 

“You won’t tell me if my kid is here?”

“No, I won’t, because the last time you were here, you did a fair amount of storming and yelling, and there’s a very nice woman asleep upstairs that I don’t want you to disturb.”

Watching him try to smile practically sends a shiver down my spine. Jesus, this man is a monster and he’s trying to charm me. “Look, I know he’s there. Just tell him I’m here. I’m sorry about the other night. You don’t have to let me in. Just tell him I’m here.” 

I give his foot a pointed look, and when he moves it I shut the door. 

Allison’s in the kitchen and she has a taser in her hand. “Where did you get that?” I ask. 

“Who was that?” 

“Isaac’s dad. We have to tell Isaac he’s here, or he’ll make another scene about it. C’mon.” Allison doesn’t move. She doesn’t want to wake him up. “Seriously, Allison, Isaac wouldn’t want us to keep this secret, and there would probably be repercussions for him if we don’t tell him at all, okay? Trust me that this is the only possibility.” 

Allison nods then. And she comes with me upstairs. 

I know I’m right, but I still hesitate at the door of Scott’s bedroom. I don’t want to do this, look him in the eyes when I tell him his dad’s here to talk to him. He was locked in a Goddamn box twelve hours ago, he shouldn’t have to go back. So I nudge Allison. “You do it.” 

She nods again, and pushes the door open. I watch her kneel next to him and wake him up by tapping the back of his hand. He doesn’t startle too much. She’s very soft and gentle with him. She tries to smile when she tells him his dad’s here, and she and I both watch his face drop. She moves back when he sits up, and Isaac rubs his face with his hands. 

“You don’t have to go,” I say in a loud whisper. Allison waves me over, so I kneel next to her. “You don’t have to go with him. We’ll take care of it.” 

He shakes his head, lips tightly pressed together. “I’ll go. It’ll be worse if I don’t go now.” 

Allison puts her hand on his shoulder. “I have a taser. You can take it.” 

“No,” Isaac says with a shitty attempt at a smile. 

“What’s happening?” Scott asks sleepily, raising his head from the bed. 

“Isaac’s dad’s here, he’s going home,” I say. 

Scott sits bolt upright then. “We can’t let that happen.” 

“No, it’s fine,” Isaac says. He stands. “Thanks, though.” 

“Wait.” Scott stands too, and hugs him. And Isaac hugs back, tightly. When he lets go, Allison is there, hugging him fiercer, somehow. 

“This isn’t going to happen a second time,” she tells him, and she kisses the side of his head before she lets go. 

I think I’m supposed to hug him too, but I don’t want to. I’m not a hugger, and I think if I do he’ll actually cry. So I lead him down to his dad, with Scott and Allison behind us. “If I don’t see you at school tomorrow, I’m telling my dad,” I tell him. “I mean it.”

Isaac doesn’t protest, which really just cements how serious this situation is. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll see you later.” He shoves his feet in his shoes and steps outside, closing the door behind himself quickly. I peek out the front window. His dad doesn’t do anything while I can see them, but fuck, that doesn’t mean anything. I feel sick. 

“I made french toast,” Allison says quietly. 

Neither of us answer her. I don’t think she expected us to. 

 

 

 

Circumstances considered, I think it’s okay that I linger by my car in the morning. I don’t want to go in and find out if Isaac is there or not. God. If he’s not there, I’ll call my dad. But when my dad gets involved, then Isaac’s dad might kill him. I mean, Scott won’t let him kill Isaac. Erica probably won’t either. But I don’t want to think about the wolf thing getting involved, because that has its own complications. Fuck. 

 _Fuck_. 

“Hey.” 

It’s Isaac, behind me. Black eye, split lip, bruised jaw, marks on his neck. He was choked. Fuck. 

I try not to let all of that show on my face. “Hey.” Problem is, without that I don’t really have a lot to say.

“I’m here,” he says. “I’m okay. So. Don’t call your dad.” 

“Your definition of okay needs some serious recalibration, dude. How close did your dad get to choking you unconscious?” Not tactful; I realize that in retrospect. 

Isaac looks down. “I didn’t pass out.” 

“Not the question, genius. How’s the rest of you?” 

“Kinda… banged up. But I’m okay. I just…” 

I wait a lot longer than I would normally. He’s more bruise than he is human, he should get a little slack. 

“I don’t think I can do this anymore,” he finally says, almost under his breath. He’s scared to think this, I think. His dad has such a stranglehold on even his thoughts, I bet this feels dangerous. 

I have to support him. “Okay. Well, Scott’s place has an unlocked window at all times. Allison even offered you a spot on her couch, if you’re willing to put up with her dad.” Isaac looks at me for several long seconds, until I add reluctantly, “My house is usually empty, but if you want to go somewhere you could go there.” 

“You don’t have to-“

“I know I don’t have to offer you anything. That’s not the point. Seriously, you alright to get around today?” 

“Yeah. But I can’t, um. I have to go home.” 

“Okay.” I weigh my options. “You’ll be here tomorrow, though?” 

“Yeah,” he nods again. “He knows you notice.” 

“Good. C’mon.” 

He’s limping. He can’t even pretend he isn’t. But I can pretend I don’t notice. 

Erica meets us before we get inside. Literally everyone is looking at her. Isaac just smiles a little when he sees her, and says, “Hi.” 

“You smell like blood,” she says. 

“Glad you’re putting those keen werewolf senses to good use,” I say under my breath. Erica doesn’t even look at me. 

“Do you want out?” she asks Isaac. “My friend Derek-” 

“Stop,” I cut her off. “Don’t prey upon him in his weakened state and offer him the whole wolf thing. Which, yes, he knows about.”

Erica just stares at me, and it’s a little intense to be the subject of such close wolf scrutiny. Isaac actually speaks up first. “He’s not as bad as he seems.” 

I stare at my betrayer in horror. Erica snorts. “Good to know. We should talk.” 

“Okay,” he nods. 

She walks away without another word. Again, that ass. Not fair. 

“I’m not thinking about it.” Isaac starts limping again, and I follow. “The werewolf thing.” 

“Okay,” I say innocently. “Whatever.” 

 

 

 

Yet again, Scott and Allison’s romantic _thing_ is cramping my style. Despite my very admirable behavior, they want some “alone time” apparently, which. Whatever. Fine. But it’s not very considerate of them to leave me alone with nothing to do. 

I guess I could actually do homework. I’ve done a stunning amount of that this year, and if I’m not careful my dad’s going to expect that from me. 

So I don’t do homework. I play me some Portal, and I order Chinese. 

When the doorbell rings, though, it’s not takeout. It’s Isaac, and that should be more predictable than it is. It’s raining again, and there’s blood soaked down his side and into his shirt. 

“Are you still bleeding?” I ask. 

Isaac nods and almost falls. He’s pale, and I’m not a doctor, but I think he’s lost a lot of blood. “Alright big guy, c’mon,” I say, and help him back to the bathroom. “Sit down, head back.” He obeys, and I open the cabinet to find out if Dad has any bandaids left. 

I give him a washcloth to stop the blood, and he presses it to his head. I want to ask what happened, but I don’t think it matters. The details might be different but the point is the same. 

I’m not as good as Allison. I press too hard sometimes, and he keeps wincing and then assuring me it’s not a big deal. I get the big cut on his head to stop bleeding, at least, and I ask, “What else?” 

“Um.” He pulls the arm of his sleeve up and shows me a couple more big cuts. “Dad threw a plate at me.” 

“Didn’t ask,” I say. I shouldn’t say that. He’s opening up, I should encourage that, I guess.

“I can’t do this,” he bursts out. “I can’t…” He swallows hard, and shuts his eyes. “I can’t keep hating myself enough to let him do this.” His voice shakes along with the rest of him. “But I don’t know how to get out.” 

I bite my lip. “You talked to Scott?” 

“Yeah.”

“What’d he say?” 

Isaac just looks at me. He knows what I’m trying to ask, and I know what I’m asking but he doesn’t want to say it. 

So I say it. “I won’t tell you not to do it. Take the bite if you want to.” 

“Really?” 

“Isaac, your dad’s almost killed you about three times since I’ve known you. I think it’s not a bad idea to become an un-injure-able werewolf. But I know Scott, and I bet he won’t understand. So. I understand. Do you want to do it?” 

He looks at me for a long time. Well it feels long, it’s probably only a couple seconds. “Yeah,” he says. “I don’t want to keep being a victim.” 

“Okay. Then do it. Scott will eventually get over it.” 

“Will you… I mean.”

“You can come over here whenever you want, alright? No problem. And you’ll have Erica, she’s a fucking babe.” 

Isaac snorts softly. “Yeah. I guess.” 

“So do it. Do it now, if you want.” 

Isaac scratches his head and winces. “Full moon’s only couple nights away.” 

“Yeah, but as far as I can tell, the first one’s bad no matter when you get bit. Get it out of the way, dude.” 

“Thank you,” he says out of nowhere, totally heartfelt. “I don’t know if I could do it if…” 

“Yeah,” I nod. “You can stay tonight, if you want. There’s always tomorrow to become an unstoppable creature of the night.” 

“Okay.” 

“Ever played Portal?” 

“No.”

“Well-“

“You’ll kick my ass but it’ll still be fun?” He somehow has the energy to raise an eyebrow. 

“Yeah, smartass, I will. You want something to eat?” 

“No, I’m fine.” 

“Alright. Then c’mon.” 

 

 

 

Monday night, my dad calls me. “Hey, kid. Your friend got brought in. The Lahey kid. His dad’s still at large, he ran when the officers showed up to a domestic disturbance report.” 

“Is Isaac okay?” 

“Yeah,” Dad says. “He’s doing okay, a little shaken up. He looks sick, though. You want to come in and see how he’s doing?” 

I realize several things simultaneously. The full moon is tonight. Dad cares about Isaac. And Dad knows that I care about Isaac. The only other person I’d think about checking on is Scott. 

“Yeah, I’ll be right there,” I say. And I call Scott. “Hey, Isaac’s in the police station-“

“On a full moon, I know,” Scott says. “Derek’s here asking me to help him break Isaac out.” 

“Oh, sure. And then does he expect you to hand Isaac over to your violent, creepy stalker?” I say, getting my keys and putting on shoes. 

Scott pauses. “Maybe. Isaac is a member of his pack.” 

“Fuck packs, bro. Isaac’s our friend, you think he’ll be taken care of by the dark demented asshole? You think creepy Derek is the best way to handle the freakin’ abuse victim? You’re the best role model a wolf could have, Scott, and if you send him off with Derek I swear to God I’ll-“

Erica is leaning on my Jeep. “I’m coming,” she says. 

“Who’s that?” Scott asks. 

“Erica’s going to help break Isaac out. I’ll meet you there.” I hang up on him. “Am I right, or am I right?” 

“About Derek?” 

“Yeah.”

“Yeah. He’s kinda… rough.” She shivers, and I don’t think it’s just because of the full moon. “Scott should take him home. Or you.” 

“Okay.” I unlock the door and get in. When Erica sits next to me, I take a second to appreciate the situation. The hottest girl in probably the world is in my passenger seat. “Y’know, if you’re ever free-“

“No thanks.” 

“Fair,” I nod, and focus on driving so we don’t drive into something tree-shaped. I know the drive to the station by heart, though, so we’re fine. Even though Erica’s wearing that leather jacket again, and bouncing her leg anxiously. “Are you going to turn into a wolf and kill me?” I ask. 

“Not for another two hours.” 

“Does everybody go full wolf then?” 

“Mostly. Derek doesn’t. Maybe Scott won’t. Only his second moon, though.”

“It’s your first too, isn’t it?”

She nods jerkily. “Yep. I won’t kill you, though. I really won’t.” 

“Good to know.” 

When we get out, she shivers a little harder. Her eyes are a little more gold than usual, and her fingernails sharp when she grabs my arm. “I’m going to stay outside,” she says. “Just in case. Call me, I’ll hear you.” 

“Okay. Be careful,” I add for a reason I don’t really understand myself. 

She smiles. “I will. You’re the human. You be careful.”

I text Scott once I’m inside. _I’m here but u’ll need 2 find ur own way in._

Dad’s there waiting for me, and surprisingly he lets me right back. “Hey, he doesn’t look good,” he says. “I’m going to call Melissa if he gets any worse.” 

“Nah, I’m sure he’s fine. Just shaken up. Keys?” Mom doesn’t need to get involved with four werewolves on a full moon. At least Dad has a gun. 

Dad snorts. “Like I’d give you keys,” he says, and walks me back to the holding cell himself. 

Isaac is pale, covered in cold sweat and shaking where he sits on the floor of the cell. He starts when Dad lets me in, and locks his hands tightly around his own legs. 

He’s taller. Bigger, all around. Looks less like someone who was starved his whole life. “Hey. What happened?” I say, sitting across from him.

“Dad’s gonna kill me and I feel like I’m burning from the inside out,” he quips first. “Great.” 

“Nice one,” I say sarcastically. 

“He knows I heal, he saw it,” Isaac whispers. “Dad. I ran when he tried to put me downstairs, and he followed me and they caught me but not him. Everything’s… G _od_ , everything’s fucked.” 

“You’re okay,” I tell him. “Scott’s on the way.” 

“And Derek.” Isaac runs his hands through his hair in anxious, antsy panic. “I can feel Derek’s here. Is he mad at me too?” 

“Probably not. You haven’t done anything wrong.” Then again, that’s never stopped Derek from being mad all on his own.

Isaac’s fingers turn white with how hard he clenches them around themselves. “You need to leave,” he says. “You’re a human, I could hurt you.” 

“Sure you could. I don’t think you actually will, though,” I say. Pretty bold for someone in the same room as someone who’s quickly turning wolfy. I need to think things through before I enter an enclosed space with a baby werewolf. Still, my mouth keeps moving. “I don’t think you could hurt a kitten, you’re pretty harmless.”

“Hey guys.” Scott shows up in the door. “What’s up?” 

Isaac hides his face for a second. “What’s up?” I demand. “He’s miserable. Can you help him?” 

“Derek can. I’m not an alpha.” 

“Bullshit,” I say. “You’re a Goddamn werewolf, Scott. Now you want me to believe there are werewolf restrictions on helping people?” 

Scott hesitates. “We need to get him outside,” he finally says, and reaches to help Isaac up. “C’mon.” 

Isaac gets up, and a shudder runs through his body. “I can’t wait,” he says. “It’s happening now.” 

“Let’s get him out,” Scott’s saying when a knife thuds into his shoulder. 

He whirls, and for the first time I’m genuinely scared of him. His features shift, get more animalistic and sharp, and he lunges at the knife thrower, really fast and really fucking quiet. 

No time to ogle. I jump on the opportunity and grab Isaac’s arm to pull him down a side hall. “Back door,” I say, “follow me.” 

He’s almost full wolf. He can’t answer. But he stays behind me and follows. I don’t care if his eyes are yellow and he has way more facial hair than he should have. He’s still himself somewhere in there, and he’s listening. 

We make it to the door, and I think we’ve made it out for all of three seconds. Then Derek fucking _appears_ in the doorway and roars. Legitimately roars, and that’s another dumb thing to hate about him. Who roars? Isaac takes it seriously, though. He’s so scared, he falls over, backs up against the wall quickly and covers his face with his arm. So I yell back. 

“Wow. Really impressive. You’re so masculine. Meanwhile, there’s someone back there trying to kill Scott, who’s here because you asked him to be. You think you might have something better to do at the moment than scare innocent werewolves?” 

Derek _literally grunts_ at me before running past me back inside. That guy is the worst. It’s official. 

“C’mon, Isaac,” I say. “We can chain you in Scott’s basement.” 

“NO.” 

“Okay. Right. You’re a little more high-maintenance of a supernatural creature. We’ll take you somewhere, though.” 

Isaac’s flickering, almost, between his fully human face and the wolf one. He’s fighting, but then he just runs. Away from everything, straight into the woods. I think I see Erica’s blonde hair out there. He’s in good hands. I’ll have to take care of Scott tonight anyways. He’s probably poisoned or something ridiculous like that, and I’ll have to call Allison in. I wouldn’t be surprised if she knows something about antidotes. 

I know I can’t keep Derek away from Erica and Isaac. Not tonight, not forever. But I think of Derek roaring at him, his dad yelling at him, and I don’t think this whole pack thing is a good idea.

 

 

 

So Scott’s mad at me. Fine. I get that. It’s been a week, though. You’d think he’d stop avoiding me and giving me the silent treatment. But no, he won’t talk to me, and he won’t listen when I’m trying to tell him how Isaac becoming a wolf is first of all, his choice, and second of all, a good one. 

Whatever. I don’t care. Being alone is fine. I set a lot of new high scores on basically every game I own. And then, on a rainy night, Isaac shows up at my window. 

“You realize this is a second floor window,” I say when I open it. 

Isaac ducks in and shakes his head like a damn puppy, shaking the rain out of his hair. “I didn’t want to bother you,” he says. 

And yet he comes in through my window. “How’s Derek?” I ask.

Isaac looks up at my tone and smiles. “You don’t like him.” 

“No I don’t. You’re very good at sensing things.” I sit on the bed, and Isaac sits next to me gingerly. He’s a supernatural creature, but he still manages to be scared of everything. “Very good at avoiding the question.”

Isaac exhales a laugh. “Yeah,” he says. “Well. He’s turned a couple more people. A guy named Boyd. Dunno. Is Scott still mad?” 

“Yeah, but he’ll get over it. You did what you had to. So what’s Derek like?” 

Isaac shrugs. “He broke my arm.” He can sense how pissed I am, so he adds, “And he broke Erica’s leg, too. It’s not just me.” 

“Well still. What the fuck is he doing?” 

“He wanted to show us how quickly we heal,” he says. “So. I healed. It was this arm.” He holds out his right arm. “So.” 

“So? I don’t care if you heal instantly. Nobody should break your arm. Jesus. Y’know, I thought you were supposed to get out of this whole situation, not into a new one.” I pick up my controller and unpause the game. 

“Yeah, but things don’t really go how I want most of the time.” Isaac lets out a deep breath. “Thanks. For Letting me in.” 

“Sure. Whatever. You can just come in whenever, if I’m asleep or whatever. Where have you even been staying? In a cave somewhere? With some baby twins named Romulus and Remus.” Okay, not my strongest joke. 

“That’s a very specific reference.” 

“My room, my references.”

“Okay, but what does Rome have to do with this?” 

I narrow my eyes at him. “Real wise guy, aren’t you. Smart.” 

“Yeah.” 

“We should make one super-student. I go to school, so your dad doesn’t find you if he ever stops fleeing the law. You do all the homework, like some kind of… homework troll. We’d get perfect grades, and we could call ourselves Stissac Stilahey.” 

Isaac shakes his head with a smile. “What a plan.” 

“I don’t appreciate your tone, dude. Where have you been staying?” 

“A bunch of places. Mostly at Derek’s.” 

“What about Erica’s?” 

“Her parents won’t let me stay the night. Since I’m, y’know. A boy. And she’s…” 

“I’m not going to suffer through your version of a birds and bees talk,” I say after a second. “I get it. What’s Derek’s house?” 

“Um, in the woods, that-“

“The fucking burned out shell of a house? That’s where you’re staying?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Is it as drafty and cold as it looks from the outside?” 

“Maybe,” Isaac mumbles. 

“Fine,” I say after a second. “You can stay here. You don’t have to beg.” 

Isaac is silent for a moment. “I’m not going to beg.” 

“Good, because you don’t have to.” 

“Oh my God.” He’s annoyed, but he’s smiling when I look over at him. 

“You’re welcome,” I say pointedly. 

He doesn’t say anything for long enough that I stop expecting him to. It’s gotta be five minutes later that he says, “Thank you.” 

“Shut up, you’re distracting me.” 

He shuts up. He falls asleep, actually. I let him stay there.

Isaac shows up just about every night after that. 

 

 

 

“Um, hey,” Isaac says one night. “Is it cool if Erica comes?” 

“Sure. Pack stuff?” 

“Well. Also girlfriend stuff. Because I asked her out.” 

If he were Scott, I’d punch his arm in congratulations. I think he feels me tense to do that at first because he tenses too, but I don’t. I’m not going to punch an abuse victim, I’m not an idiot. “Awesome. You beat me to the punch.” Terrible, terrible _terrible_ pun. It was an accident. 

Isaac snorts. “Yeah, guess so.” 

“No he didn’t,” Erica says from out on the roof. “I turned Stiles down.” 

“Oh my God. Get in here,” I sigh, and she slips in through the open window with a grin. “Have you been lurking out there every night?” 

“Just tonight.” 

“Well, you aren’t kicking me out of my bed, so the wolves can fight over the desk chair. Above all, do not block my view of my television. Do you understand? Do not.” 

Erica smiles at Isaac. “Didn’t mention he was such a control freak,” she says. 

“His room, he makes the rules,” Isaac mumbles. Erica’s smile just grows, and she crooks her finger at him and he gets up to go to her. She sits him in the desk chair with a hand on his shoulder, and sits on the desk next to him, propping one foot up on his chair possessively. 

“Yeah, well. My boy, I make the rules,” Erica says quietly, to him. 

“Gross,” I say loudly. “Ew.”

Erica smirks a little. “Jealous?” 

“Shut up,” I roll my eyes. “Don’t be gross in my room when I’m giving you asylum.” 

Isaac steps in because he doesn’t want a fight. “Okay,” he says. “What are you playing?” 

“Call of Duty, bro. Wanna play?” 

“I do,” Erica says. I throw her a controller, and she grabs it out of the air. 

They keep sneaking closer to each other, which is also gross but kind of adorable. Erica sits cross-legged on the desk, completely focused on the TV, and Isaac scoots his chair, inch by inch, towards her. 

“So how’d you two know each other?” I ask. “Before your dad, right?” 

“Before my mom died,” Isaac clarifies. He glances up at Erica. “Yeah. We were friends. Since… third grade or something?” 

“Second,” Erica says. “Always thought he had cute hair.” 

Isaac flushes, and runs his hand over his hair self-consciously. “Whatever.”

“Yep.” Erica leans down and kisses it. I make vomiting sounds - very convincing ones, but neither of them stop. 

It’s actually a pretty effective way of handling me. I stop, because vomiting sounds are hard on the throat. And they keep being the cutest supernatural couple this side of the Atlantic. After everything they’ve both been through, I don’t even mind. 

 

 

 

“So you were holding hands with a certain wolfy blonde today.” I unlock my front door and motion Isaac in ahead of me. 

“Yeah,” he blushes. As much as he acts confident at school, that goes out the window here. 

“Still going well?” 

“Yeah. She’s awesome.” 

“She is. Especially if by awesome you mean unbelievably hot. Because she’s also totally that. What’s it like to kiss her?” 

Isaac shrugs. “Nice."

"All you've got to say is nice?" 

I push open the door to my room and Erica is sitting in the middle of my bed, looking very pleased with herself. “Just because you kiss and tell doesn't mean eberyone does,” she says. 

“I take offense to that implication,” I say, and motion at her until I get her off the bed. “Do you ever do homework?” I ask her. 

“Sure. I’ve got a really great boyfriend who’s like, super smart, to help me with all that stuff,” she says, with a giant soft smile on her face. I’d be extremely jealous of any guy she looks at that way, except it’s Isaac, and I can’t bring myself to be jealous of Isaac for frankly anything. 

He grins proudly, and sits where she tells him, at my desk. “We could show him,” she says after a moment. “I don’t mind an audience if you don’t.” 

Isaac looks at me, and I pointedly don’t look back. “Uh,” he says. “I’ve never…” I turn my back to them and end up folding a shirt, just because I’m not quite sure what to do.

“I know. It’s fine. Here.” 

I’m considering leaving my own damn room, just so I don’t witness werewolf foreplay. This is really unreasonable. I should say something about it. But then Isaac makes a kind of upset noise - weirdly high-pitched, but I won’t mention that - and says, “Wait, no. _No_.” 

Okay, so I don’t have to turn around that fast. He can protect himself. But I do, and I see him push her off of him. I’m ready to watch Erica snap at him and reluctantly prepare myself to defend him. A fight with a girl who can break my spine isn’t something I look forward to, but Isaac is my man.  

But Erica doesn’t snap. She steps back and then squats down, so she’s not taller than him, and she puts her hands on his knees. “Babe,” she says. “Tell me.”

Isaac has his hands over his face. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice muffled. “Fuck. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay.” 

“I think I don’t like being held down.” He pulls his hands away and takes several deep breaths. “Okay?” 

“Okay.” Erica takes his hands. “Get up.” 

He obeys. He’s gotten taller. Her head only comes up to her shoulder, but she moves him around easily, sitting down and then pulling him down by his belt loops. He sits on her lap, and Erica leans up to kiss him. 

“If we could keep the wolf romance to a minimum in this room, that’d be great,” I say loudly. I hope nobody can tell how worried I was. 

“Y’know, for somebody acting so chill about everything, your heartbeat spiked as much as his did,” Erica says, looking at me from around Isaac. I don’t answer right away - I’m too distracted by how her hands look on his hips. “Hey buddy, our eyes are up here.” 

“Right.” I look away. “What did you ask me?” 

“Nothing.” She looks so dangerous, but I think she might actually like me a little bit now. “It’s good,” she says decisively. “You worry about him.” 

“I definitely don’t.” 

“Sure you don’t.” 

“I’m in the room,” Isaac points out, turning to look at me. 

“Shut up,” Erica says, and adds “Stiles, you might want to leave for a couple minutes.” 

I leave, but I watch them for a couple seconds. It’s really just unrealistically hot. No rational person could be blamed for looking at them.

I come back in with cold pizza. They’re in my bed now, Erica against the headboard and Isaac lying back against her chest. There’s room for me, so I don’t complain. “You’d better not get up to any shenanigans in my bed. This is a sex-free safe place.” 

“I’ll say,” Isaac says, and Erica snorts. 

“Y’know, you’re being incredibly brave for someone who should probably know better than to mouth off to authority figures.” 

I worry for a second if that’s too far when Isaac doesn’t immediately answer. “Well,” he says. “You’re not an authority figure. So I’ll say whatever I want.” 

Erica raises her eyebrow at me. I raise both of mine. “The sheer disrespect,” I say firmly. “I don’t believe you.” 

“Believe it, baby,” Erica says, and kisses Isaac’s hair again. She has one hand laced into it, and one linked with his over his shoulder. It’s so cute it gives me a headache, and it makes me miss Scott and Alison. They should go on gross double dates together, while I save the world. 

Downstairs, someone knocks on my door pretty furiously. I don’t want to get up. “One of you-“ I begin. 

“No way,” Isaac cuts me off.

Luckily, before I have to get up, the knocking stops. Then I hear the door open and someone comes stomping up the stairs. 

“My dad has a gun,” I call loudly. 

“Shut up, Stiles.” Lydia walks in briskly, then stops. “Oh. Is… this a thing?” 

“They’re a thing. Sadly, a thing of which I am not a part. But if you’re not doing anything…” 

“No,” Lydia says flatly. “Allison’s in trouble.” 

“What kind of trouble?” 

Lydia sighs deeply. “Well. You’re Scott’s best friend, so you probably know about his problem.” 

“Lydia, I’m sitting in bed with two werewolves.” 

“Really?” Lydia frowns, looking at the were-couple.

Erica bares her teeth and shows off her pointed nails. Isaac’s eyes go gold. 

“Oh. Well, good. Allison’s family are werewolf hunters.” 

It takes a solid six seconds for me to process this. “Do you mean to tell me,” I finally say, “that Scott’s girlfriend’s last name has been a pun this entire Goddamn time and I didn’t realize it? Really?” 

Lydia rolls her eyes. “I mourn your pride. So Allison’s in trouble. Her grandpa's crazy and trying to kill Derek and Scott, and Scott doesn’t want to get anyone involved but Allison’s mom and grandpa have convinced her the werewolves are all bad. So.” 

“So you want me to bring two more werewolves to that situation? Absolutely not. That’s not even a question. No way. But I’ll come, and I’ll bring my dad’s airsoft gun. Where’s Scott?”

Lydia gives me a sympathetic look. “If I needed someone to be bait, I’m more than capable of using myself. No. I wanted you to tell me if you knew any more wolves, because Scott needs backup.” 

Isaac cranes his neck and looks up at Erica. “Scott needs help,” he says. 

“Allison uses knives,” she says. 

“I can heal,” he shrugs. “We can. It’s okay. Let’s help Scott.” 

Erica shrugs and sits up, pushing Isaac up with her. “Fine,” she says. “If you really want to.” She wraps her arms around his shoulders, though, and kisses his cheek. “What do we have to do to help Scott?” she asks Lydia. 

“They’re by the river in a warehouse. Stop Allison, but don’t hurt her if you can. And don’t let her mom and grandpa kill you.” 

“Can we do it?” Erica asks Isaac. She totally loves him, I’m gonna call that now. Also she looks really cute. 

Isaac puts his hand over her arm. “Sure we can. We’re werewolves, aren’t we?” And he smirks, which is… frankly, hot. 

Lydia is also super distracted. “Apparently. Well, us humans will hang back, but I can give you a ride.”

Werewolves can run like a hundred miles an hour. Or probably fifty. But they don’t turn down a car ride, and they hold hands on the way there. “Get Scott, get out,” Erica says to Isaac a couple times, and he nods. He leans into her, and Erica squeezes his hand. 

When we get there, Lydia turns off the car. “Alright. Good luck.” 

“Six heartbeats,” Isaac murmurs. “Fast.”

“Stay behind me. You’re a bigger target,” she says. 

“Be careful,” I tell them. “I’ve got enough blood on my bedspread.” 

Isaac reaches out and ruffles my hair, which is a weird gesture but I think he’s trying to be friendly. “Yeah,” he says. “Stay here.” 

“Okay.” 

They get out and stride toward the warehouse. They’re walking completely in unison, and they honestly look really great. But I can’t help myself - I think about the Isaac that kept showing up battered and my stomach flips. I’m getting too soft in my old age.

“So how long as that been happening?” Lydia murmurs. “The wolves.” 

“Oh. Um, a while. Like three or four weeks. They won’t tell me if they had wolf sex on the full moon, but I suspect-“ 

“Do you have a filter?” Lydia demands. 

“No. No I don’t. I believe that’s a well-established fact.” 

She smiles against her will. “Okay,” she says. “Fair enough. Well. They’re almost as hot as Jackson and me. And I don’t like that.” 

“If it is any consolation, I don’t think it’s possible to be more _popular than_ you and Jackson. So that’s your big advantage.” I put my feet up on her dashboard. She slaps them down. I put them back up. 

“He knew Isaac,” she says. “Before. He lives across the street from him.” 

“Oh, really?” 

“Yeah. He’s seen his dad… that whole thing. So. Jackson saw Isaac running from him before. And stuff. But he didn’t say anything about it. So. That’s his fault, but. I wanted to tell you.” 

I’m uncomfortable with that. She doesn’t need to tell me Jackson basically enabled Coach Lahey and didn’t own up to it until after. Like, she doesn’t need to tell anyone, but she especially doesn’t need to tell me.

“Why?” I say. 

“Well. Because Jackson did something shitty. And I’m sorry.” 

I frown. “Why are you sorry? Tell Isaac that. Don’t tell me.” 

“I will,” she retorts. I can’t tell if she actually means it. “But I’m telling you because you’re like his white knight. And we’re kinda… friends. So.” 

“Scott’s the white knight. I’m like, a squire at best. Or I’m like a different knight whose armor is more weathered? Like I’ve been through a lot of knightly violence and no one knows what color my armor used to be so that makes me a morally ambiguous character. Like a wild card.” 

“Oh my God.” She sighs.

I adjust my feet on her dash. She gives me a hard look, very prepared to slap me again. “So Erica’s cool. Did you know her before?” 

“No.” 

“She’s cool. She’s known him for years. So. That’s cute.” 

Lydia frowns. “Since when have you cared about cute?” 

“I don’t care.” 

“You just mentioned it.” 

“Well, that was because I really _don’t_ care. It was sarcasm.” Honestly I’ve forgotten what she’s talking about, but I remain stubborn. It’s Lydia, I can’t give in. 

“Right,” she says. She can tell I’m bluffing. 

There’s gunfire inside, and then more gunfire. 

“Hey Stiles?” Lydia says. “Do you know if werewolves can survive headshots?” 

“No I do not. Somehow that hasn’t come up.” 

She nods, lips pressed tightly together. And we wait. 

First to come running for the car is Erica, looking grim. “Open the doors,” she says. “Isaac and Scott are coming. Not good.” 

“How not good?”

“Scott’s fine, it’s Isaac. Allison’s dad shot him and then Allison stabbed him but not really. Long story.” She opens the car door. 

“Where’s Allison?” Lydia asks.

“Safe. She doesn’t believe her family anymore, but she hasn’t told them. They have Derek still.”

“Can Allison get out to give Isaac first aid?” I ask.

“No.” 

I see Isaac and Scott heading for the car. Scott’s helping him walk, and my stomach drops again. It does that a lot where Isaac’s involved apparently. “Start the car, Lydia.” 

Scott gets in after Isaac, putting him in the middle. “Hey, Stiles. I’m sorry.” 

“I know you are, buddy. Let’s go.” 

“Isaac needs a hospital,” Erica says loudly. 

“My mom’s on duty,” Scott says. “Let’s go.” 

“Convenient,” I say under my breath. Those wolves probably know how my heart is racing right now, but that doesn’t mean I have to make it obvious for them. “Scott, are you okay?” 

“I’m fine, it’s basically already healed.” 

“That is not reassuring, Scott! Jesus. Erica?” 

“I’m fine,” she says. I look back and see she has her arms around Isaac’s shoulders. “You’re okay, babe,” she says. 

“Yeah, I’m okay. That’s why Stiles isn’t asking about me, because it’s obvious how okay I am,” he says. 

“What happened?” Lydia asks. 

“Ummm, well I’ll give you the highlights, I guess. A lot happened. Allison lured me and Derek here to kill us. Her whole family was here-“ 

“Allison broke up with him two weeks ago,” Lydia cuts in. 

“And you still wouldn’t talk with me?” I say to Scott. 

Scott sighs. “I didn’t want to just come to you with a problem,” he says. “After I’d been ignoring you for no reason? I didn’t want to like, seem like a bad friend.”

“So you ignored me more?” I demand.

“Now’s really not the time to discuss our friendship, Stiles. Our friendship isn’t going to be ruined, is it?” 

“Well, no.” 

“Awesome. So can we talk about this later?” 

“Yeah.” 

Scott’s holding Isaac’s hand tightly. “How does it feel?” he asks. 

“Like someone’s trying to burn my arm off.” 

“Wolfsbane,” Lydia says to me. “Poisonous, but worse for the wolves.” 

“Do we know what the antidote is?” 

“Allison does,” Scott says. “She’ll bring it as soon as she can.” 

“As soon as she can? What kind of reassurance is that? You want Isaac’s arm to frickin’ burn off while your girlfriend takes her sweet time getting here?” 

“Ex-girlfriend,” Scott says. 

“Oh my God. That’s what you got out of that? How about some, ‘I was wrong and you were right, Stiles. I should be the pack leader to keep my friends safe. I should never have isolated myself like that.’ How about some of that?” 

Isaac snorts. Always appreciates a good joke even when his arm is burning off, which I definitely like. I don’t really want to think about what might happen without the antidote. I like him. 

“Step on the gas, Lydia,” I say. 

She glares at me, but she obeys. We’re at the hospital in two minutes, perfectly parked. Lydia’s good. 

Scott and Erica help Isaac inside while I run ahead with Lydia to find Mom. The ER receptionist nurse knows me, so when she sees me running in in a panic, she just rolls her eyes. “What is it this time, Stiles?” Then she sees Isaac, with the blood and torn shirts and everything, and she says, “I’ll call Melissa. Get in room 207.” 

We all get in the room. Lydia starts typing on her phone. Scott and Erica get Isaac on the examination table, and I notice for the first time that he’s shaking, his eyes flashing gold. “Is this supposed to be happening?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” Scott shakes his head. “He’s the only one that got it.” 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Isaac mumbles. 

Erica comforts him, pressing their foreheads together and murmuring back to him. “It’s okay,” she says. “You’re fine.” 

Scott looks at them for a second, then at me. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I should never have left them with Derek, he doesn’t protect them.”

“He broke their bones,” I tell him. “On purpose.” 

Scott goes a little alarmingly flat in the eyes. “He did?” 

“Yeah. Because they can heal themselves, he says he's training them. You would never do that, would you?” I ask, mostly rhetorically. 

“Never. He should never have done that. Does he know what Isaac’s dad did to him?” Scott asks.

“Yep. So really, I don’t think anybody’s too torn up about leaving him behind.” 

“I texted 911,” Lydia says distractedly. “They’ll bring him in in five to seven minutes, depending on traffic.” 

“Whatever. Scott. You should build your own pack.” 

Before he can say anything, Mom comes in. She hugs Scott first. “You're alright?” she asks. 

“Yeah,” Scott says immediately. “Not my blood. Isaac’s been poisoned.” 

“Poisoned? With what?” Erica moves out of the way so Mom can examine Isaac.

“Wolfsbane, a member of the aconitum family,” Lydia says. “He absorbed it through his shoulder wound." 

Mom glances back at her. “Anyone care to tell me how he got shot with an apparently poisoned bullet?” she demands. She feels Isaac’s forehead with the back of her hand and then lies him down. She takes his pulse, then gets the cuff thing and takes his blood pressure too. “How long since he was shot?” 

“Ten minutes, maybe,” Scott says.

“Do you know how big of a dose?”

“No.” 

Isaac has his eyes shut, so he doesn’t see how Mom looks at him. It’s probably for the best, I don't think Mom looking at him like he’s near death would help. 

“Alright kids,” she says. “Out of the room, go wait in the hall.” 

“No,” Isaac says immediately. 

“Pick one,” Mom says. “Three seconds.” 

Isaac looks at Erica. “Scott.” 

“Alright, everybody else out." She's getting out a syringe, and as we’re leaving she gives him an injection in his arm. 

In the hall, Lydia starts texting again. Erica kicks a hole in the wall, and I look around to make sure nobody notices.

“Is this a violent mood you can be talked out of, or should I leave you alone before I become your next casualty?” I ask Erica. 

“Depends on what you have to say.” 

That’s vaguely ominous. “Well,” I hesitate. “Scott’s mom’s a great nurse. Isaac’s a strong guy. And Scott will take great care of him. You've got nothing to worry about.”

“Unless that kind of poison is fatal. Which they clearly expected it to be.” 

Lydia speaks up. “It’s fatal in large enough doses, and the onset of a burning sensation so soon is not a good sign. But, his respiration isn't impaired yet, and he didn't report any numbness. I’d say he’s got a pretty good chance of surviving this one, especially since he has accelerated healing.” 

“Wanna run through some details? What exactly happened, were they trying to kill him specifically?" I ask.

Erica huffs out a breath and sits down in one of the shitty hard chairs. I sit down next to her. “We got in there and they were torturing Derek and Scott in separate rooms. I think Allison's mom was trying to get them to... admit they’re evil or something. Whatever. When we got in, Derek was being tortured and Scott was talking to Allison. He changed her mind, whatever he said.” 

“He tends to be convincing,” I nod. 

“Yeah. So when Isaac and me came in, she didn’t kill us. She let us get him out. But then her family came in, so she had to pretend she was fighting us. So she stabbed us a bunch of times, but we were still getting away. And then her mom shot Isaac with a wolfsbane bullet.” 

“Where’s her dad in this whole situation?” I ask. 

“Not there. Dunno.” Erica shrugs. 

“He’s a hardass, but maybe he’s less psycho than the rest of them.” 

Erica crosses her arms. “Y’know, Stiles, he could be a saint and I wouldn't really care, because his wife shot Isaac in the arm with _poison_.” 

“Fair enough. Yes, I’ll give you that. The stabbing probably also didn’t help.”

She shrugs, but she's trying not to smile. “Probably.” 

Down the hall, there's a super loud commotion again, and then Derek is wheeled by on a gurney for the operating room. Lots of people are yelling stuff. “You still connected to him in some weird werewolfy way?” I ask Erica. 

“Kind of," she says. “It’s weaker. Maybe it's because he's dying or maybe it’s because of Scott. I don't know.” 

“Alright. Well, just… I have some experience with hospitals. Don't think about the hypotheticals. All the planning and stuff can wait.” 

“What should I think about instead?” Erica says. “The crazy family of werewolf hunters that live here or the fact that my current alpha is dying down the hall?” 

“You’ve got me there," I say after a second. “Can I interest you in a shitty cup of coffee?”

“No,” she says. “But you can point me to a bathroom, I’ve gotta get some of this blood off.” 

“Right. Down the hall, take a left, and it’s on the right.” She nods and walks that way. Lydia zeroes in on my face then, and stares until I stare back. “What?” I say irritably. 

“Since when are you a werewolf personal counselor?” she asks. 

“Since the werewolves decided I was the defacto Scott while he figured himself out and showed up in my bedroom every damn night. Ever had a werewolf fall asleep in your bed and have to try to sleep around them? Especially when that wolf is like seven feet tall?”

Lydia blinks. “Okay. No, but the counseling part. Since when do you get involved with people emotionally?” 

I put my hand over my heart - mostly to stall. “Y’know, just because you haven’t cared to notice my emotional depth before now doesn’t mean it hasn’t existed,” I say. “And frankly-“

“Y’know, whenever you say frankly that’s a sign you’re full of shit. Frankly,” she adds, and returns to her phone. 

It’s a fair comment. I don’t fight it. 

 

 

 

Mom comes out of Isaac’s room about ten minutes later. Erica’s already back, so we get the information together. “Well, he’ll survive,” Mom says. “Do you know how upset I am with you?” 

“We were called in last minute. Scott got into trouble all his own,” I defend.

“Not that. There’s something else going on. You think I’m stupid? You think I just won’t notice that Isaac and Erica look totally different? Am I the kind of mom that’s just going to accept a non-explanation for a bullet laced with poison? And Scott…”

“Scott’s a great leader,” Erica interjects. 

“Yeah? And how would you know? Where is he leading you? How?” 

Erica presses her lips together tightly. Mom’s smart, it’s kinda unnerving. She’s not supposed to catch on to the underhanded shit we’re trying to sneak past her. 

“Look,” I finally say. “This is something Scott should probably tell you. And later. But I will tell you that the guy down the hall has the same poisoning as Isaac. So maybe this whole… thing could wait.” 

Mom narrows her eyes. “You’d better not be lying.” 

“I’m not, I mean it. Can we go in and see them?” 

“Yeah,” Mom says. “Don’t excite him too much, and don’t move him. I mean it, he needs to rest. He’s been stabbed several times, you remember failing to mention that?” 

He’ll heal from that in like an hour, but I look appropriately embarrassed. “Sorry. It seemed less important at the moment.”

Mom nods. “Okay,” she says. “Isaac’s not leaving the hospital tonight. Have I been clear on that?” 

“Yeah,” I nods. “Crystal.” Unless Allison’s family decides to come and try to kill him again. I don’t think any of us will let that happen. But I try not to let her see I’m thinking about that. 

“Okay. Go.” She leaves too, in the direction that Derek’s room is. He’ll probably survive. 

Erica's first in, Lydia’s last. The first thing I see is that Isaac is still holding Scott’s hand, and it clicks that Mom was worried, not angry.

His shoulder and numerous stab wounds are all gauzed and taped, so I guess that’s good. But his fingers are white around Scott’s hand and his eyes are shut. Scott’s tense too, and the veins in his arm are standing out in a weird way. “Something happening here?” I ask.

“Helping him with the pain until the painkillers kick in,” Scott says. 

“You don’t have to,” Isaac says through clenched teeth. 

Erica takes Isaac’s other hand, interlacing their fingers. “Teach me how,” she says. 

Scott teaches her in like three seconds, some weird stuff about wolves and connection and whatever, and then she gasps. “Don’t,” Isaac says to her. 

“Too late.” 

Scott looks at me. His eyes are flickering to other colors, the alarmingly usual gold and then a new color, this blue that’s electric. “Dude what’s happening to your eyes?” I ask. 

“I don’t know,” Scott says. “I feel… different. I think you were right.” 

“Right about what?” 

“I don’t have to be in a pack with Derek, but I want a pack.”

“Well, if you’re offering,” Isaac says.

“Yeah?” Scott asks. “I’ve been kind of a dick to you, I’m sorry. You totally did the right thing, and I hope they find your dad and bring him to justice.” 

“Okay Batman,” I say under my breath. 

Isaac breaths in deeply and then lets it all out. “It’s fine,” he says. “I’m with you.” 

“Me too,” Erica nods. “You’re okay.” 

Scott grins. “Cool. Okay. Well, I am really sorry, though. I was a stubborn jerk. To all of you. Well, less you, Erica. I don’t really know you. I’m excited to get to know you, because you’re a badass fighter and you seem to be a great person. Y’know, in a relationship with Isaac, and he’s a great guy.” 

Erica looks from Scott to Isaac. “Is he always this big of a dork?” 

Isaac nods. They’re all relaxing, so I think his meds are finally kicking in. “He’s Stiles’ best friend, what do you expect?" 

“Wow.” I shake my head. “You’ve been not-shot for all of five minutes and you’re already taking pot shots at my best friendship.” 

“Yep.” 

Scott looks at me. “You turned Isaac sarcastic,” he says. 

“Bad news for you buddy. Isaac’s been sarcastic all along and was just waiting for the chance to bloom into a fully-realized asshole, apparently.” I shrug. “We’ve really enjoyed our time together.” 

“You are both ridiculous,” Lydia says firmly. “Well, since we’re all okay, I’m leaving. I’ll see you later.” 

“Bye. Drive safely,” Scott adds. 

“Don’t worry. Everything dangerous is in this hospital or my best friend’s house, so. I think the drive home will be just fine,” she says, and leaves. 

She has a point. 

Erica combs the fingers of her free hand through Isaac’s hair. “We should figure out if the hunters can find us,” she says quietly. “We need to be safe if we’re staying here tonight.” 

“I’ll text Allison,” Scott says, letting go of Isaac’s hand to do just that. 

“Your phone survived torture?” 

“No,” he says, pulling his hand back out of his empty pocket. “Can I use your phone?” 

“Unbelievable.” I hand it over. “Oh yeah. How did you change her mind?” 

Scott gets shifty. “Well. I could tell you, but it would probably make you say I was being gross and romantic and stuff. And I may or may not have said some stuff about our friendship that was way more than I’m really comfortable admitting I’ve ever put to words.” He blushes. Scott McCall blushes, so I know I’d be even more embarrassed if I asked him to clarify.

“You told her about our friendship to make her believe you were a good person that she shouldn’t murder?” I clarify. 

“Yeah.” 

I nod, keeping a cool front. “Alright. Question answered. Text her, let’s figure this out. I’m not going to get murdered while someone’s trying to kill Isaac.” 

“You would, though,” Isaac says. “You’re definitely collateral damage.”

Again, I shake my head at him. Just coming straight in with the personal attacks. “I think I’m proud of you,” I tell him. 

“Hey!” Scott points at his phone. “She texted back already.” 

“What did she say?” I prompt, motioning at him to hurry up. “C’mon, we’re on a bit of a tight schedule.” 

“Right. She said she knew having your number would be good for something. But that’s clearly not important, so I’ll get to the point,” he adds quickly. “She says she’ll be here alone in twenty minutes.” 

“I need a weapon,” Erica mutters. 

“No weapons,” I tell her. “Allison’s great.” 

“She tried to kill Scott tonight, and she stabbed us. Forgive me for wanting to be prepared.” 

Isaac snorts a little. “She’s not always like that,” he says. “She’s good, I think. I bet she’s just confused.”

And granted, I also like Allison so logically I agree with him. But also logically, I’m scared of what that girl could be capable of. Like lying to Scott and then coming here to wipe us out. So I meet her outside. 

“Welcoming party,” she says when she sees me, with half a smile that I think is exhausted more than anything else. “Where’s Scott?” 

“Inside. I need to pat you down.” 

“Wow,” she says. “Okay.” And she spreads her arms out. 

Awkwardly, and as quickly as I can, I pat her down. She has exactly four knives on her. “I’m going to see three werewolves who I hurt like an hour ago, so excuse me for being cautious,” she says. 

She has a point. So I let her keep one of them. 

When we get to the room, Erica stands directly in front of the boys protectively. “Hey,” she says. 

“Hi,” Allison says warily. 

“This isn’t going to be some kind of girl fight or anything. But if you’re still feeling like stabbing someone, make it me.” 

Allison shakes her head a little. “No. No stabbing. I’m sorry.” 

“Okay.” 

“I told you she wouldn’t stab us,” Scott says from behind Erica. 

“Are all of you alright?” Allison asks. “Healed.” 

“Well besides the poisoned bullet hole in my shoulder,” Isaac says. “The burning sensation all over, blurry vision. My narrowly-avoided coma.” 

Allison’s face twists up a little bit. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t know my mom brought that. Is there going to be any lasting damage?” 

Isaac shakes his head after a second. “I should be fine by tomorrow.” 

“That’s good, at least.” 

Erica snorts, but Isaac nods. “Well,” he says. “You could come here.” 

The baby wolf is asking for a hug, and that doesn’t slip by anyone, including Allison. She smiles, and crosses the room to him. He leans up with a wince to hug her, and Allison’s very gentle as she hugs back. “I’m so sorry,” she says. It’s all very sweet. 

“Alright, have we done enough catching up? Can we ask the important questions?” I ask. “Does your mom know where you are? Can she find you?” 

Allison shakes her head. “I turned my phone off. Mom thinks I’m going for a walk to clear my head. What’s happening tonight? Are you staying here?” 

“If no one knows we’re here,” Erica says. “Are we safe?” 

“Yeah, you are. Mom doesn’t think you’d risk going to a hospital, she doesn’t know about Ms. McCall. They’re listening to the police blotter trying to figure out where you guys went.” 

“So you broke up with me because you thought we were evil and then you changed your mind and saved us?” Scott asks, and that sounds a little accusatory if I’m being honest, but can I blame him? No. I can’t. 

Allison sighs. “Okay. Let’s hash this out. Can we talk in private?” 

“Can the rest of us get a brief explanation?” I ask, raising my hand. “Just so we get some reassurance that you won’t suddenly change your mind and murder all of us for real this time.” 

Allison nods and bites her lip. “Scott and I were going through a rough patch. I just found out he was a wolf, so I broke up with him for a while. Then Mom told me she’d been training me to take her place, leading the family, so I was… I was trying that out for a while. I didn’t have any reason to believe she’d lie. But then I finally listened to Scott, and he apologized and explained everything and I realized that I don’t want him to die no matter how upset I was. And I definitely didn’t want Isaac or Erica to die.” 

“Wow,” Scott says. “Glad to know where I stand on your list of priorities.” But he’s grinning goofily, and he takes her hand on their way out to the hall. 

“So that relationship will probably survive,” I say to myself. 

“Yeah, and so will we,” Isaac answers. 

“Nice one.” 

He smiles. “I do my best.” 

 

 

 

Mom comes back in an hour later. Isaac and Erica are asleep, holding hands between his bed and her chair next to it. Allison and Scott are sitting on the floor, talking quietly or whatever. I’m sitting next to Erica. “It wasn’t fatal, but it came close,” she says. “Who is that guy? He had no ID on him.”

Scott looks at me, as if I have any better idea of what to tell her. “Um.” 

“And what’s happening in general, Scott. Big picture. The late nights out-“

I was smart. I told him to discuss this with Erica and Isaac before they fell asleep, and he did, so he can answer her. I refrain from gloating in the moment, but it feels pretty damn good anyways. 

“Mom, there’s something I don’t know how to tell you. You're probably not going to believe me, and I fully realize that. Okay?” 

“Of course I’ll believe you, Scott,” Mom says. “What is it?”

Scott stands up. “I’m kind of… well, _we’re_ kind of all… werewolves.” 

Mom’s awesome. “Prove it,” is the first thing out of her mouth. 

“Um…” Scott frowns with concentration and after a second, he shows her his fangs and claws growing. His eyes glow blue. 

“All of you?” 

“No, me and Isaac and Erica, that’s it. And the guy down the hall.” 

Mom gets a syringe from a drawer and tells Scott, “Stay still.” And she draws his blood. “I want Erica’s, too.” 

“Why?" Scott frowns. 

“Because if my son’s a werewolf, then I’m going to know what that means for him medically. I have the other two’s. How did it happen?” 

“I got bit when Stiles and I were camping. And then Derek, the one down the hall, bit Isaac and Erica. So.” 

She looks at me then. “What’s a full moon like?” 

“Weird. He wolfs out. We used to have to lock him up, but now he’s pretty in control. So.” 

“Alright. Allison, how do you fit into this whole thing? Aren't you broken up?” 

Allison stands up too. “Yes, ma’am. My family kind of… hunts. Werewolves.” 

Mom pinches the bridge of her nose. “This is not a conversation I should have at the end of a ten hour shift. Okay. What are you doing tonight?" 

"Staying with Isaac.”

“Can I talk you out of it?” 

He shakes his head. “But I'm okay. And we’re gonna be okay.”

“Alright. I love you. What’s the guy's name? Derek?” 

“Derek Hale,” Scott nods. 

“Did Isaac and Erica _want_ to be werewolves?” Mom asks, sounding weirdly awkward and stilted. But I guess it’s not that weird, awkward, or stilted considering what Scott just told her. Pretty normal reaction. 

“Yeah,” Scott says. “And I didn’t want them to.” 

“Okay. Come here. I love you,” she says again, and hugs him. “Text me in the morning if you don’t come home." 

“Will do. Have a good night.” 

“I’ll do my best.” Mom hugs me too, and Allison after just a second. “You kill my son, I’ll kill you,” she says.

“That's fair,” Allison says with half a smile. 

Mom checks on Isaac’s vitals before going, and Isaac wakes up. “Hey,” he says blearily. “What’s up.”

“You’re fine, honey, go back to sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Okay. Is Derek okay?” 

“He’s breathing,” Mom says. 

“Awesome.” He shuts his eyes again. 

Mom leaves then, with a final kiss on Scott’s forehead, and it’s just us again. “Well that went well,” Allison says. 

“I think so, probably. At least she won’t try to kill you.” 

Allison sighs. “Gonna milk that one forever,” she says. 

“I think I get to milk that! Your mom was literally torturing me like, less than three hours ago.” Scott sits back down on the ground with her and puts his arm over her shoulders. “You did some stuff,” he adds quietly.

“I know. I know.” And she hugs him. “I’m sorry.” 

They keep talking and I fall asleep. As far as an evening of torture and rescue tends to go, this one wasn’t too bad. 

 

 

 

“Hey.” Isaac nudges my arm. “Can I come home with you?”

“We’re splitting up for like, three hours and regrouping for dinner,” I say. “You really need to come with me?” 

“Well, I can’t go to my own house.” 

“Sure you can. Your dad's on the lam.” 

He doesn’t say anything, but he keeps following me out to the parking lot. He leaves it to me to put together the pieces: His dad doesn't have to be home for him to be scared of him. Plus, once I think about it, going home to an empty house you were beaten in doesn’t sound like that good of a time. 

“You need to stop home for clothes?” 

“No. Thanks.” 

“Whatever.” I scratch my head awkwardly. So we wait for Dad together, and Isaac picks at the hole in the shoulder of his jacket. 

“I don’t have to if you don’t want me to,” he finally blurts. 

“Oh my God, shut up. With the hunters still looking for you, it’s probably not safe for you to go anywhere anyways.”

He nods after a second. “Okay. Not like you could defend yourself if something came after you anyways.” 

“Yeah. That’s why I changed my mind.” I roll my eyes. He smiles a little, but I think he’s still upset, so I add, “You’re back in fighting shape already?” 

“Sure. I could fight someone if I have to.” 

“Real convincing,” I say. “If we ever need codenames, your code name is Baby Bear. And that should give you an idea of how threatening you are right now.” 

“What about other times when I’m more threatening?” 

“I’ve got some bad news for you.” 

Isaac grins right as my dad pulls up, and my mission is accomplished. 

Dad regards me with serious suspicion as we get in the car. “So who’s injured?” he asks. 

“One of Scott’s friends. It’s fine, though, it looked worse than it was. And we’re going to Scott’s for dinner tonight.” 

“Okay. Ask Melissa if you can bring anything.” 

“Sure, I will.” 

Dad glances over his shoulder at Isaac. “How’ve you been, son?” 

“Um, I’m okay,” Isaac says. “Thanks for the ride.”

“Sure. Any word from your dad yet?” 

“Nope. I’d tell you guys, if there was. I don’t like him any more than you do.” 

Dad huffs out a little bit of a laugh. “That wasn’t an accusation.”

“Oh.” 

I step in. “Y’know at this point, how do you know he hasn’t skipped the country? We haven’t seen him in almost a month.” 

“He hasn’t left,” Isaac says quietly. 

“Yeah?” Dad looks back at him. 

“He wouldn’t leave me. And not because he cares so much, but because he likes to be in control. And I’m…” The only thing his dad can control. He doesn’t have to say it. 

Dad kinda clenches his jaw as he keeps driving. I’m sure Isaac can feel his anger, because I can. “Well,” he finally says. “You’ve got a place at my house until that situation gets figured out. How old are you?” 

“Seventeen.” 

“Okay. We can look at getting you emancipated, if that’s what you want. Then your dad couldn’t take you away if he comes back. How does that sound?”

“That sounds really great, if you want to do that. Thank you.” 

“Yeah, Dad,” I say. “We should’ve adopted someone ages ago, then I wouldn’t have to have been raised by the media.”

Dad gives me an exasperated look. “Jesus.” 

In the backseat, Isaac giggles. He’s getting out of control. 

Dad drops us off. After approximately three seconds, Erica shows up, walking through the back door. “Scott’s such a buzzkill,” she says, coming to take Isaac’s hand. 

“And you’re trespassing,” I inform her. 

She shrugs and leans up to kiss Isaac on the cheek. “You really feel okay?” 

“Yeah. I’ll be fine to go to school tomorrow.” 

“Not the question,” she and I say in exact unison. 

Isaac snorts in the following silence and gives me the worst shit-eating grin I’ve ever seen. “Awesome,” he says. “You guys are gonna be super awkward about this.” 

“You shut the hell up,” I grumble. But he’s right. Erica and I sit on opposite ends of my living room, and she won’t look at me. "I'm not going to steal your boyfriend or anything,” I finally tell her. 

“I don’t think you could if you wanted to,” she begins, already offended.

“Believe me, if I wanted to I could have him in a heartbeat,” I scoff. 

Isaac stands between us and holds his hands out. “Guys. I don’t think there’s anything to fight about right now. I’m not breaking up with you, Erica, and Stiles doesn’t want to date me.”  

“Don’t I?”

“No. We’re too good of friends.” 

He has a point. “Alright. But hypothetically-“

“Hypothetically I’m capable of ripping your head off,” Erica says flatly. “How about that.”

That’s a good point. I shut up. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
